Fire and Blood
by bayre
Summary: Tracking a werewolf near the same small town Sam was kidnapped by a serial killer, both brothers discover recovery never comes easy. Sequel to Bonding of Souls and A Safe, Secure Place. No real spoilers, but refences to events in the show. COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

_RUN_!

The word slammed through his brain. Run! Run fast.

The basic instinct was a constant through all life. Survive. Self preservation.

So he ran.

His feet pounded the ground in unsteady steps, as he slipped on the leaves littering the slick, damp trail. His was breath puffs of white he shattered as he ran through them seconds after his lung expelled them. _Christ_, he had no idea what was chasing him, but he sure as hell knew what he'd seen. The flesh ripped from bones, limbs torn away.

The sound of branches being ripped from trees echoed from what seemed like every direction.

_Blood_…There'd been so much _blood_. Unfortunately, his blood had mixed with two victims and the _other_. All he'd wanted to do was take a quiet hike in the woods on his day off. Instead he'd found them, the two hapless victims probably wanting to do the same. He'd had his handgun. He'd tried stopping _that thing_, He'd emptied an entire clip into it. It'd barely flinched and still tore those people apart. Then came at him, ripping and slashing. How he got away, he had no clue. He hadn't stopped long enough to figure it out either.

He'd seen some awful things in his life, but this…? Nothing prepared him for _this_.

The _other_ was still chasing him. He could hear it coming through the underbrush and trees.

Hurdling a fallen tree, lungs heaving, his legs gave out when he hit the ground on the opposite side. Sprawled face first in the dirt and leaves, he struggled to rise. Semi-frozen mud bit and stung the palms of his hands. His leg muscles burnt and ached. Electric jolts of pain shot from his wrists to his shoulders from the impact. Shoving arms under chest, he pushed, but too much damage had been done, too much blood flowed. His lungs burned from his efforts and sheer exertion.

He heard it, coming through the woods. Coming for _him_.

Run!

_Run_. Run, run, _run_! His brain screamed the words, but his body was too spent to follow the command.

It crashed through the woods behind him, no finesse, no attempt at covering itself. It had no need.

His vision darkened along the sides. Fighting unconsciousness, fighting to live, he tried to get up again, but only succeeded in rolling onto his back. It bore down on him, fangs dripping, claws reaching to rip more flesh and blood from his bones. He shoved backwards, feet pushing through the mud, trying to get away. _It_ kept coming, claws grabbing at him. The encroaching darkness along the periphery of his vision clouded in until what he saw narrowed down to a small, pinpoint tunnel.

Then the tunnel closed.

Images flashed behind his eyes of the girl and boy he'd seen earlier. The first time he'd seen them they'd been holding hands, sharing a soda fountain drink while they walked the trail.

The second time…

The last time they'd been in shreds.

His hearing followed his vision, but not before he became aware of other voices and the pounding of other feet.

His voice wouldn't work well but he tried to tell them. "Don't…the blood…stay away." Desperately, he wanted to warn them not to touch the blood but he couldn't. His body shut down, sinking away from him, sight, hearing, feeling, it was all going away…


	2. Chapter 1

_**Thanks so very much to my friend Ames for her hard, wonderful work as beta! And to Vanessa for always listening. Many thanks too to Deej1957 who was the winning bidder for me in the fics4books author auction.**_

* * *

_Two souls bonded through eternity._

_Without one there truly would not be the other._

* * *

The world jolted back in a rush of noise and white light. Pain ricocheted through him, nerve endings screamed as his entire body jerked.

A warm hand rested on his shoulder. "Whoa, whoa. Take it easy. You're safe."

An older man, around sixty with white hair gazed down at him with kind, concerned eyes. He was surprisingly strong for someone of a slighter build

"Where—" His voice sounded strained, his throat felt dry and scratchy. "Something was—"

"Yeah, there was _something_ alright. It nearly had you. Fortunately we got you first."

Eyes traveling the room, they fell on a plaque carved in wood near the door—_the meek shall inherit nothing_.

The man turned and followed his gaze. He shrugged a bit, "A hobby of mine; wood art, carving, burning. It's relaxing."

Nodding, he took in more of the room. Pale cream walls and dark green curtains hung over the small windows with heavy screens. There was a bed, a sink, and a door he presumed led to a bathroom. The bed was a hospital bed, but the room didn't look like a hospital room. It lacked much of the equipment he'd seen in hospitals. However, he did have an IV in one arm. The line led to a pole doubling as a coat rack near the head of his bed. "Interesting saying," he croaked.

The man nodded, "But true. You're safe here." He moved from the side of the bed to the end. "You should be dead. However, you're not, you just look like shit."

"Thanks." He drew a deep breath and took the plunge. "Tell me you didn't touch the blood."

The man raised an eyebrow and crossed both arms over his chest. "I'm a doctor. I know better. Not all of it was yours."

It wasn't a question, but he shook his head anyway. "You saved me?" He was having a hard time wrapping his head around that fact.

"No, I didn't. I don't know why you're alive; you shouldn't be."

He pushed against the arm without an IV, sitting up far enough to rest his shoulders against the head board. A groan got by his lips. "Did you see it?"

The man nodded affirmative. "There are people who come through here regularly; I help them and they help me. They knew what to use to repel it, gave me some, so I was ready. It's been around here about two months, but so far no one has been able to get rid of it. Hell, we've barely been able to hold it off."

"Where is here?" He waved one hand at the room.

"This place? A village called Haven."

"Hav—it's real? Not a legend?"

The man smiled, "Guess not, son." Pulling a small vial filled with dark liquid from one pocket, the man held it up. "I'm a doctor. This is your blood." The blood in the vile was dark, nearly brown and sludge thick. The man's eyes lifted to meet his. "What are you?"

Avoiding the man's gaze and pushing himself straighter still, he glanced around the room, spotting his clothes and jacket on a chair. With a hiss, he used his chin to motion to the pile of clothes. "My wallet's in my jacket. What's left of my jacket."

The man moved across the room, patted down the ripped jacket until a battered and bloody wallet was extracted. Silently he handed it over.

"What I am," he took the wallet and pulled out his ID, "Is a missing cop." He flipped his badge to the end of his bed. It landed near his foot. "Which means that half the cops in South Dakota who are not missing are going to be looking for me soon. Eventually they'll find this place, which I'm guessing you'd like to keep unfound."

The man nodded.

"I need to get out of here sooner rather than later."

"You're not going to be able to travel for weeks—"

When he pushed straighter, wincing from the pull and tug against strained muscles the man's eyes widened for a second. His face almost at once settled back to a calm mask. He pulled his shirt up, looking at his abdomen and chest, then moved one hand along his thighs.

"Your arm—I thought you'd lose it for sure."

"Guess I have you to thank for that." He extended that same arm, hand held out. "Tim Forge. Most call me Forge, I hate the name Tim."

The man shook his hand, but was looking at the length of his arm. "Carter Bitner." He withdrew his hand, his gazed landing on Forge in a way that was unsettling. "What the hell are you?"

"Hurting." Forge cracked a grin. When the man just stood there, staring at him he sighed. "Just a rural county detective who needs to get back to his office."

"It's been more than a day." Bitner pointed out.

"Damn. If my car was found…" He looked up at Bitner. "Anyone searching is walking straight to their slaughter. I gotta find that thing and end it."

"I know someone who can get you back to your car in one piece. He's been working on this problem, not having much luck though."

Forge snorted. "Yeah, I got that fact right off." Being chased through the woods by something intent on ripping his head off had made Forge think he should call in a favor or two, but he wasn't sure the men he'd ask for help were still alive.

"Look, you still need to rest up and get some food into you. Give me until the morning. I think I can get someone here by then to give you a hand."

The situation couldn't get much worse. He was probably already tagged as missing. Another twelve or fifteen hours wasn't going to make much of a difference. So Forge nodded his agreement.

Bitner brought him soup and a turkey sandwich. Not really enough to quench the gnawing hunger, but it would sustain him for now. He could hold out until the next day for a real meal.

He really didn't want to be here, in this village. In fact, it was probably one of the last places on Earth Tim Forge wanted to be now or any other day of the week. There was little he could do about it, he was here now.

_Haven_…

Forge could hardly believe it was here. That _he_ was here. Anyone who spent more than a few years in the south eastern chunk of South Dakota knew the stories and legends of Haven. It was a tiny village with a handful of dirt poor families who refused to leave—even after generations of poverty. There was no hunger, and good medical care, yet no one had money. Legends claimed men and women, some with reported magical abilities, kept the village and its inhabitants safe and hidden, some said for centuries.

Forge knew those people had no magical powers. He knew they called themselves _hunters_, followed _the hunt_. It wasn't deer or birds they hunted, it was something…_else_.

Forge had known a few of these hunters over the years, but two in particular were memorable and the only ones he'd have asked for help now. His problem was he didn't know how to contact them or if they were even alive.

The more immediate and pressing problem was not only getting back to where he should be, but his current location.

He was in Haven. The hide-out wounded hunters came to for recuperation, or simply a clean bed and hot meal.

Haven, the hidden village of those that worked in shadow and saw what few even believed possible.

Yeah, Forge had to get the hell out of here.

In the morning Bitner brought him some truly amazing coffee, and a breakfast of bacon and eggs. Forge got him to remove the IV the night before. He was slow on his feet still. It would take him a few more days, a week maybe, before he was back to normal, but he was ambulatory enough to be on his way. There was the small matter of a monster eating hikers in his county.

"How long you been here?" Forge asked between bites of breakfast, this was a snack; he'd get something more filling later. "And can I get a mug of this coffee to go?"

Carter huffed a short laughed. "Sure can." He set his own mug down carefully. "I've only been here three or four months."

"Whatcha do before coming here?" When Carter simply looked at him, Forge sighed. "Just making conversation, not a cop asking. You saved my ass. I don't forget that sort of thing. If there's any way I can repay you…?"

Nodding, Carter took his mug, handed it back to Forge full. "I got myself into a very bad place. I can't legally practice medicine anymore. I was lucky enough to come here after I left New Mexico."

Forge froze mid-sip of coffee. "New Mexico? Four months ago?" He gulped the hot liquid sloshing on his tongue down his throat. "You're the doctor who blew the whistle on Marcus Del Villar. That was in New Mexico. All those men kept there for betting and fights, white slavery ring, for what, a decade or more?" Forge leaned forward, holding out his hand again. "Lemme shake your hand again. That was amazing. I read everything on that place, followed every bit of news. You're a real hero, man."

"I just made a phone call. It was others who did the rest. It was just my voice the police heard on the phone." Carter's expression became bashful and Forge swore he blushed a bit. Obviously he was not a man accustom to being in the limelight.

A knock on the door cut short anything else Forge could say, or ask, and he had more questions than he could coherently form into words. Carter turned and opened the door. He smiled and greeted an older man. When the newcomer stepped around Carter and came into full view, he pulled his baseball cap off, scratched his head and muttered, "I'll be damned. Boy, you'd better not cause me trouble."

It was becoming a habit, whenever he saw this man, and Forge acted without thinking much. Holding both hands in the air, he hoped his voice was steadier than he felt. "Sir, please don't shoot me."

"You two know each other?" Carter asked the question the same time Forge did.

The man with the baseball cap rolled his eyes. "This _is_ South Dakota. _Not_ New York City."

Forge spoke first. "I met Mr. Singer not quite a year ago while investigating a series of murders."

"Yeah, interesting investigation techniques, using a victim as bait." Bobby spat out, clearly still irritated by the fact.

"I didn't use him as bait—I used his brother. I would have asked if the man wasn't so busy staying away from me. I'm sure if I had asked he'd have agreed." Forge put his hands down and cracked a grin. "Besides it worked. We got them."

Bobby snorted. "Where's your car?"

"North side of Lake Vermillion; I was hiking the trails." Which put Haven somewhere in McCook County, near the center he was guessing.

"How do you two know each other?" Carter looked from one to the other.

"Nearly a year ago now there was a series of kidnaps and murders in McCook County. A friend of mine was the only survivor."

"Two brothers. Without them, honestly I'd still be looking and there'd still be bodies. I used the older one as bait to flush out the killers. It wasn't what I wanted to do." Forge turned to Bobby, giving him an apologetic look. "I did try to get that kid out of your house. I knew all along they'd come after Sam again, since he could identify them, and I did honestly try to get Dean to get him away."

Bitner was suddenly busy choking on coffee. "Winchester?"

"Ye-yeah. You know them?"

"South Dakota, not New York City." Bobby grumbled.

Realization hit Forge then. Dean and Sam Winchester had driven away from kidnappers and serial killers and into a huge royal mess in New Mexico. He had even more questions now, starting with what was Dean Winchester's phone number.

* * *

_Smoke…_

_There was so much smoke. Hot. Smoke and hot, intensely hot. Sam! Sammy! Christ, he had to get Sam out. Get him out of a cage in a burning building or shoot him. Get him out or shoot him because Dean couldn't let Sam burn to death. Thick, oppressive smoke hung in the air. It made his eyes itch and his skin tingle. Not dying here. Neither of them were dying here._

_He found something to assault the bars and door. Striking at Sam's prison over and over, hitting Sam a few times by mistake. God, he'd hit Sam, he hadn't meant to._

_Smoke, so much thick, dark smoke. Acrid air. Stairs and pieces of the house above crashing down_.

Something landed on his shoulder. Dean's eyes shot open. Gasping, he straightened and shoved away from the heaviness on his shoulder hitting the car door.

"Hey, Dean, you okay?" Sam's hand dropped to the seat between them.

Valkyrie wiggled up Sam's chest to lick at his neck, then bounced from the driver's side to Dean, tail pumping the air, tongue swiping over his hand too fast to follow the movement. The dog was one long, continuous chick-flick moment. Dean rubbed the dog's ears.

"Where are we?" Even as he said the words he looked out the front window. The sun was setting, casting long gray shadows everywhere. The landscape very familiar—Dean knew where they were. "Why are we here?!" he snapped.

Sam's eyes dropped to the steering wheel. He shrugged. Valkyrie shimmied between them, curled in a ball with just her head up. She looked from Sam to Dean.

Dean knew biting Sam's head off and generally being an ass about this wasn't going to help, but right now he didn't care. The dream had been so vivid. It seemed he was destined to constantly relive the horrors of Sam in a cage, a room on fire, no way of getting him out. Dean had gotten his brother out, however. Still the dreams, that scene and others plagued him.

"This is what I get for letting you drive." Shoving out of the car, Dean barely gave the empty land, the property where the McCreedy house once stood, a glance. He'd had every detail of it burned into his mind for nearly a year. Looking at it was a futile act.

Shaking off the feelings rampaging through him, Dean stomped around the car. Yanking the door open, he gestured to Sam to move over. Sam looked up at him, guilt and something else all over his face. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see."

"You should have woken me up first. Now, either get over or get out, but I'm not staying here right now."

Dean wasn't sure what bothered him more: the nightmares about Sam's kidnapping and all they'd gone through with the McCreedy spirits, the nightmares of the Del Villar compound or the fact Sam had sat here for unknown minutes, alone, facing them himself while Dean slept.

"You should have woken me up if you were going to come here." Dean softened his tone, wondering why Sam would even want to come here as he slipped behind the steering wheel.

"I was okay. There're trees growing now." Sam's voice was soft, and Dean knew he wasn't exactly _okay_, neither of them were, but they were closer than they'd been to _okay_ in a long time.

"Yeah." Dean turned over the engine. "Can we go now?"

He laid one hand on Sam's arm, wanting to somehow convey he wasn't angry with Sam, not really. He was angry with himself for not being able to put things behind him, for not being able to do what Sam—and Dean—so desperately needed and put into words what he felt; the why and how of the nightmares, and the other things he knew Sam noticed.

Sam's eyes dropped to Dean's hand, then lifted to meet Dean's. He smiled a bit. Maybe Sam understood more of what Dean didn't say than Dean gave him credit for after all. Dean gave Sam's arm a gentle squeeze and a pat before pulling back to the steering wheel.

"We can go," Sam said softly.

Dean nodded. "Next time you want to come here, let me come with you. Please?"

"You were here, just not awake."

"Sam."

"If it'll make you feel better, I will."

"Thank you."

Dean backed the car away from the property and headed out to the road. He didn't stop until they reached the bar Bobby had directed them to, along with the request.

This was going to be interesting.


	3. Chapter 2

Forge couldn't help feeling like a petulant child on the drive from Haven to where his car was hopefully still sitting. Every bit of conversation with Bobby Singer was thwarted with either a grunt, a dirty look or both.

The problems the Winchesters faced after the death of Sam's kidnappers hadn't exactly been his fault. He'd _tried_ to be sure the spirits wouldn't return, but apparently the finer points of salt and burn were missed by the county coroner's office. The bodies had been burnt, the salt left out. Forge wasn't _exactly_ a hunter, even though he had more than the average person's knowledge of the supernatural.

Really, he thought Mr. Singer should cut him some slack.

The man's voice did soften when Forge reminded him he'd been the person to put a bulletproof vest on Sam Winchester. Surely it _hadn't_ been his fault Sam chose to use that to jump off a pile of wrecked cars and into a shotgun blast. Forge never even suggested doing that. _That_ had been all Sam's idea.

The pickup bounced over the uneven ground, then their ride smoothed and they were going in a straight line, not zigzagging. Forge could tell they'd left dirt back road and landed on pavement. Hallelujah! Civilization couldn't be far. "Can I take this blindfold off now that we're on a real road?"

"You gonna shut up if I let you take it off?" Mr. Singer's gruff voice was back.

"Probably not," he admitted. Forge heard movement from the driver's side. The blindfold, and strands of his hair, was yanked away. "Ow!" Rubbing at the back of his head, Forge turned to look at Singer hoping for more answers about whatever it was that attacked him. "What sort of thing was that? And how does one _repel_ it?"

"I thought it was a werewolf. They're pretty scarce, but they seem to like it around here. Lots of wilderness. But this thing ain't acting like any werewolf I ever heard of." Singer sighed and readjusted his hands around the steering wheel. His gaze slid to Forge for a few seconds, then back to the road. "Werewolves ain't really your line of work."

"It is when the damn thing is ripping up people out for a walk in the park," Forge snapped. That earned him a searching look and maybe, _maybe_ just a small amount of the hostility dropped off. Time to get more answers. "How do you repel it? Why repel it and not just kill it? How come you didn't talk to the Winchesters about helping before now?"

Singer sighed again and seemed to slouch a bit. He was quiet for a few minutes, then pulled his truck off to the side of the road and cut the engine. "You use shifter sheddings as a repellant."

_Oh…Hell _of course_, how silly not to know that_…

Forge closed his eyes for a beat. "What's shifter—?"

Singer shook his head, "You don't want to know."

_Fair enough_. _True enough_.

Leaning his head back, Singer took his hat off and rubbed the side of his face before turning back to Forge. "I would've normally asked Dean and Sam to help me out with this. There're so few werewolves, almost no one has experience with them. Dean's faced them off a few times—both as a kid and an adult. Sam too. Despite the fact they're probably half the age of a lot of hunters, they have more experience with those creatures than most. Hell, some hunters never even see one, let alone hunt one down."

Forge frowned. "So why didn't you call them?"

Singer sighed deeply. "I didn't ask them because it meant they'd have to come _here_." He waved a hand toward the windshield and at the scenery beyond.

_Oh_. _Damn_.

The rampant surliness aimed in his direction made perfect sense now. Forge mentally kicked himself a dozen or so times. Of course it'd be a difficult thing for Dean and Sam to return to this part of South Dakota. There wasn't just bad memories, there was nearly a year of horror for both brothers associated with this particular piece of real estate.

"I didn't think—"

"Of course you didn't think." Singer waved a hand at him. "Doesn't matter. They'd have found out sooner or later and come anyway. You were right. They're the ones we need to have on this. Just wish it was somewhere else."

Forge shifted in his seat and purposefully his eyes forward. "You said this werewolf was different. Why? What makes you unsure about this one?"

Singer started the truck and pulled back onto the road. "The tracks look like a werewolf, so do the bits of hair I've seen. We have a few descriptions. All those things point to werewolf. Thing is, a werewolf is like any other animal; it follows a certain behavioral pattern. This one is different."

"How so?"

"I'll go into the details when we meet up with Dean and Sam. They'll need to know, too." Singer pulled his truck into one of the lots near the hiking trails. "This the right one?"

"Yeah." Forge took a quick look around the lot and grumbled, "Shit." He pointed to a spot a few yards away, "It should have been right there. Christ, I'm going to have to admit to getting lost or something dumb. I'm never living that down."

Singer's eyebrows rose. "That's the best you can come up with?"

Forge snickered, "I _could_ just tell the truth."

Singer grunted and opened the door, stepping out.

_Yeah, that shut ya up, didn't it_?

Singer dropped his hands to his hips and scanned the area. "You sure this is the right lot?"

Sighing, Forge left the truck and walked over to stand next to the older man. "Unfortunately I'm sure." He rubbed the back of his head. "Never gonna live this down. Can you drop me at the station in Canistota? My car should be there. Hopefully my office is too."

"You really gonna tell all those other cops you got _lost_?" Singer was staring at him with something almost like shock…and respect.

"I disappeared in an area where there're attacks and my car is found abandoned. Now I'm going to waltz back in two days later all fine and dandy. Unless you got a better story that _doesn't_ involve werewolves?"

"Great." Singer turned and headed back to his truck, "Another smart ass kid. Why do I get 'em all?" He slammed the door shut then leaned out the window. "You coming?"

Forge grinned and headed back to the truck, climbing inside. He took that as a compliment, Singer was accepting his presence. At least the rest of the ride to town was going to be just this side of frostbite.

* * *

Dean didn't have to look behind him to know Sam trailed through the bar after him, but he did it anyway. Sam's eyes met his and he was given a small, soft smile. Nodding his appreciation, he turned his attention to the bar in general. It was nothing special, your basic bar. Wooden floor scattered with beer caps and peanut shells, a few scraps of paper here and there. The horseshoe shaped bar sat in the middle surrounded by tall stools. Tables with chairs littered the open area surrounding the bar. They were a few miles from Canistota City Hall and the police department. South Dakota in general and near police stations in particular weren't especially his or Sam's favorite places to be, but in this case a necessity.

They'd gone to Bobby's place in the past year, not as much as they might of, but enough. Until Dean had woken up in the Impala at the McCreedy property A few hours ago they'd never gone back there, near it even. In fact they'd not gone many places in South Dakota, usually making a beeline to Singer's Auto Salvage. If Dean could have shut his eyes on the trips through he would have. He was certain Sam did on more than one occasion.

Now they were forced to be here…_here_.

They both knew eventually they'd have to come back, called by some hunt. Dean wished that time had been maybe next year or the year after—or never. If it wasn't for the fact Bobby lived just outside Sioux Falls they would've avoided South Dakota as much as they did Kansas.

He saw how Sam's eyes shifted to the fireplace, and doubted Sam thought the fire was anything but cheery. His brother was close enough Dean felt him tense from such close proximity to a burning fire, even if it was contained in a fireplace.

Dean accepted the fact Sam was never going to be comfortable near any sort of fire. Not that Dean blamed him after nearly six months of torment by fire. Dealing with that bit of their lives was almost an unconscious habit at this point.

The small crackling fire on the far side of the bar morphed to images of Sam trapped in a cage while a house burnt and crumbled around them. An instant later it was Sam sitting on a pyre lighting himself on fire to save Dean from the McCreedy's spirits.

Clamping down on his runaway thoughts, Dean bumped his elbow into Sam's. The gesture was as much to point out the direction as to let Sam know where he was and hadn't forgotten a thing about fires; as it was to reassure himself Sam was alive; he was there and uncharred. Dean tipped his chin at Bobby. Apparently Bobby hadn't forgotten either and bless his heart, was seated at a table as far from the fireplace as they could get in here.

"You boys okay with this?" Bobby nodded at the chairs and the three beers sitting on the table.

It didn't get by Dean, and he doubted it went unnoticed by Bobby, how Sam moved his chair so the table and Dean were between him and the fireplace. Dean was also sure his own relief showed in how he relaxed as he eased into his chair.

Bobby raised his eyebrows a fraction and gave Dean a look that read _don't smother him_.

Dean scowled as he took a swig of his beer and ignored Bobby. The man meant well, but both he and Sam came to the conclusion a while back they knew what they needed from each other, and they were the ones most able to deal with one another. It was their job to protect one another by whatever means were needed. Neither of them would ever be the same person they were before Sam was snatched from a grocery store parking lot. The sooner that fact was accepted the better.

Sam hadn't sat where he had because Dean told him to or even expected him to. Dean knew Sam had done it because he'd wanted to. It was the only thing that mattered to Dean. He'd do whatever necessary to make this as easy as possible for his brother. He didn't care if the others thought he was mollycoddling Sam. He didn't care what anyone else's opinion was, even if that anyone else was Bobby.

"Yeah, Bobby, we're good with it," Sam said. He sat picking at the label on his beer bottle and focused his eyes somewhere near Bobby's shoulder, but it was good enough.

"Part of the job," Dean added. He glanced up when someone approached their table. He knew who he was here to meet, but it still took him by surprise seeing the man here. Smiling at him no less. What he was presented with now was far different than what he'd faced the first time he'd met Tim Forge.

"Guys!" Swinging the nearest chair around and straddling it so his back was to the room, Forge leaned over holding out his hand to Sam. "How the hell are you?"

Sam's eyes slipped for a second in Dean's direction before he leaned over the table far enough to shake Forge's hand. "Uh…good. You?"

The sweeping appraisal Sam got wasn't lost on Dean, nor was the look in Forge's eyes. Sam had been a victim of a crime Forge probably felt he should have prevented. Dean had seen the same look in his own eyes, and in Sam's, sometimes for each other, sometimes for strangers. The fact this man cared about Sam set Dean at ease and earned Forge a ton of extra bonus points.

Dean got the same warm handshake and the same visual as Sam. "I was a bit surprised by your message."

"I was a bit surprised you were alive enough to get it," Forge came back without missing a beat.

That made Dean chuckle. Bobby grunted irritably and let his beer bottle clunk hard on the table.

"Hungry? This place is a dive, but they have the best food here." Forge pulled out a credit card. "And best part is it's on the Canistota P.D." He pointed to the unclaimed beer on the table. "This mine?"

Bobby nodded and looked pointedly from his to Sam's to Dean's beers. "I'm far too polite to make you feel that left out."

"Thanks." Forge smiled and tilted his beer up.

"Drinking on the job?" Dean asked mildly.

The beer bottle hesitated a split second before Forge poured some into his mouth and gulped it down. "Please," he snorted, "they're lucky that's all I do on the job. I get my job done." Forge grinned, "Besides it's not my fault beer is thirst quenching."

Sam cracked a smile and laughed. Dean mentally upped the number of bonus points he was allowing Forge. The guy wasn't so bad for a cop. "I could eat. How about you, Sammy?"

"You can always eat. And drink. You'd better keep a close eye on that expense account." Sam leaned back in his chair looking more relaxed by the minute. "I am hungry, thanks."

Forge twisted and waved at a woman behind the bar. She waved back, and smiled before working her way through the crowd to their table. He slid one arm around her waist. "What's good tonight?"

"Everything. Same as every other time you ask."

"Hook 'em up." Forge tilted his head toward Dean.

"You know, Timothy, someday someone is going to take a close look at your expense account."

"Fortunately today is not that day."

"You want your regular?"

"Yes, please."

After a few minutes of taking orders for food and more beers, all on Forge's expense credit card, the woman left with the promise to return with their meals shortly.

It was time to get the details, kill the monster and get the Hell out of South Dakota. "What did you see?" Dean asked.

"I didn't _see_ much. I felt a whole lot more. There's a recreation area not far from here, I went there to do some hiking on my day off. I found two kids ripped to shreds and then it came after me."

"Did it bite you?" Sam's voice was soft, but he was leaning forward. Dean knew his interest was piqued.

"Bite…I…I don't know." Forge looked straight at Sam and shook his head. "I really don't know. I blacked out quick." He glanced at Bobby, who sat there, impassive. "I had a lot of cuts, but no one mentioned a bite wound. I don't remember anything but claws."

Glancing back at Sam, Dean said, "We need to know for sure."

"Look, guys, I know you're probably still angry with me, and you've the right to be angry with me forever. I'm sorry about what happened to Sam, to both of you. Before and _after_ the McCreedys and Redding died."

"You told him?" Dean cut Forge off, aiming a glare at Bobby. He never expected this.

Bobby shook his head, "No, I didn't."

"Then how'd he—"

"Does it matter how I know?" Forge cut him off. "I know I'm asking a lot, but there is _something_ out there mangling people, and it's not a bear. All I'm asking is that we put everything aside for now and do this and get this thing gone."

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam's hand on his arm made him shut it again.

"Detective," Sam kept his voice low. "It's okay, it is. What Dean meant was we need to know for sure if it bit you, not if you are telling the truth."

Forge sat and stared at Sam. "Why is that—?"

"Werewolf, jackass. Don't you ever watch TV?" Bobby snapped.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Dean gave him a rueful smile, "_Oh_. We have time before we have to worry about that."

"Maybe not. Like I said this thing, it walks and talks like a werewolf, but it sure ain't acting like one," Bobby said.

"How many have you seen?" Forge asked.

"Me? None. I've researched plenty, but never came up against one in person. Like I told you on the ride back to town, they're rare. These boys," Bobby nodded towards Dean and Sam, "They're the only people I know who've actually confronted one."

"Two actually," Dean said.

"Three," Sam corrected quietly.

Dean closed his eyes for a beat, hating the wounded quality Sam's voice took on in that one word.

Dean desperately wanted off the subject. "Let's concentrate on _this_ one." He let his voice drop, his tone and expression conveying past werewolves were not open for discussion.

Forge, though he probably had no idea why, did seem to understand immediately. The conversation stopped when the food appeared.

"I'll leave you gents to your dinner." The woman dropped one hand on Forge's shoulder. "Do J. Edgar proud now."

"I always do, don't ya know?" He winked at her. She shook her head, laughing as she walked away. Forge looked around at the three of them and shrugged. "Inside joke."

"That's what I call rare." Dean watched, fascinated and maybe even slightly grossed out as Forge bit into his steak sandwich. Blood from it dribbled down his chin, he wiped it to his lips and licked it off back of his hand.

"Only way to have 'em." Forge turned from Dean to Bobby. "Mr. Singer you said there are things unique about this particular werewolf, that you aren't even sure that's what it is."

"Yeah. Like I said the descriptions match, and the hair found matches. But this thing, it ain't acting like no werewolf I've ever heard about. Just 'cause I haven't seen one doesn't mean I don't know plenty about them. I've researched dozens. This is the only one I know of that attacks during the day, doesn't follow the lunar pattern and eats its kill. As far as I know you're the only one left alive from its attack."

Forge took another bite, chewed slowly and chased it with a long pull from his beer. "Where'd the descriptions come from?"

"People not attacked." Bobby didn't offer any further details and though Forge gave him a curious look, he dropped that line of questioning.

Sam asked what Dean was about to ask. "How'd you survive?"

Forge's gaze didn't waver from Sam's. "I don't know."

"Maybe the important question is _why_?" Bobby asked, his voice sharper than Dean normally heard. Maybe Sam had forgiven Forge, but Bobby sure hadn't.

"I don't know that either, sir." At least Forge had the smarts to look contrite.

Dean wasn't so sure Forge was as completely innocent as he appeared, but he seemed earnest enough and he wanted this thing gone enough Dean could overlook that for now. "I'd like to take a look around the area where you were attacked."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Bobby, maybe you can dig up when the attacks started, and compile a victim list while we go with Forge?"

"Sure thing." Bobby stood, looking from Sam to Dean. "Thanks for dinner." His hand dropped to Dean's shoulder, his gaze settling on Sam. "You boys be careful. Be sure to check in. You can stay at my house."

Dean shot him a look that read _don't smother_. He knew Bobby's last statement wasn't an offer and it wasn't a question. It was the closest to an order Bobby was going to give them. Dean wasn't taking orders for now. "We'll find somewhere closer for tonight, check out the area in the morning and be in touch after that."

Bobby grumbled, but didn't argue; it was the logical thing to do. As much as both he and Sam loved Bobby, sometimes being on their own was more comfortable for them both. He'd seen Sam's expression and body language change slightly, and was probably the only one at the table that noticed. Dean suspected Sam's casual attitude at the McCreedy property earlier had been a cover up. They both needed to be somewhere not associated with the events leading to the McCreedy's deaths, or the showdown with their spirits right now. Unfortunately Bobby's house literally reeked with memories of that time for both Dean and Sam. Being there for short bursts was fine but Dean wasn't sure either of them could deal with a longer stay.

In this case Dean could plead soaring gas prices and an hour's drive from Bobby's salvage yard to McCook County. It wasn't like they were going to be pitching a tent on the McCreedy property. They could do this and not go back or even drive by it.

Turning to Forge, Dean gave him a long look. "You know, I'm probably going to have to run a stop sign or two doing this."

Forge shrugged, "I figured as much. Just be sure to make it the one right in front of the police station, that way no one will ever notice."

Dean chuckled and nodded. "Okay then, we'll find a place to stay and meet you in the morning."

What Dean dearly wanted to do instead was herd Sam to the car and drive away as fast as possible and never, ever come back here again. He couldn't do that, though, neither of them could. It was time to stop running and face the past.


	4. Chapter 3

"So, what do you think?" Sam shifted around so he could look at Dean directly.

Sprawling one arm over the back of the seat, he slid down and let his legs relax. They'd probably driven less than a mile in their search for a motel, but the Impala's heat cranked up fast allowing him to unzip his jacket and the hoodie underneath. The tenseness from being in the bar, surrounded by strange people and staring at a fire eased out of Sam. The beginnings of his headache started around the time their food arrived slipped away as the muscles of his neck loosened. Here in the Impala with Dean, Sam could relax completely and be himself, not who others thought he should be.

Dean snickered, "You mean other than the fact Bobby is pissed at me for saying we'd stay in a motel here and not at his place?"

"He's not pissed."

"Yes, he is. He doesn't get it and I don't know how to explain it to him. Maybe he's more hurt than angry and I'm sorry for that, but there's nothing we can do about it." Leaning forward, Dean craned his neck to look up and down the roads converging at an intersection. "Get your Mr. Wizard street finding thingy out and find us a motel."

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled. Twisting around, he grabbed his computer bag and dug out his GPS. A minute later he had them a destination. He was grateful for Dean and his stubbornness. If there was one thing Sam could count on in life it was Dean would insult God himself if it was a matter of protecting Sam. Though, in this case Sam knew Dean was protecting himself almost as much as he was Sam.

"I think Forge wasn't telling us the complete truth, but I don't think it has to do with this case."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "I had the same feeling. Wonder why?"

Dean shrugged. "Things didn't exactly go so great the last time we met him. Maybe he feels guilty or just uneasy around us."

"You're probably right." Sam paused and took a deep breath, concentrating on keeping his voice even. "I'm curious how he knew about what happened with Redding's and the McCreedy's spirits."

"I've been wondering _that_ myself, and I intend to find out."

"Hmm." Sam sort of felt sorry for Detective Forge. Once Dean decided he wanted answers from someone he was relentless until he got them.

Dean was still slightly freaked out if Sam stayed in the car while Dean went into the motel office so Sam amiably trailed alongside his brother. Ever since leaving Del Villar's compound, Sam accompanied his brother into service stations, motel offices and anything else they could park their car near. Sam never waited out in the car anymore. It didn't bother Sam; it never had in fact. What it did was get rid of the expression Dean would wear if he thought he'd have to leave Sam alone in the car.

Jesus, weren't they just the pair?

It struck Sam as ironic, it wasn't the werewolf they were tracking that was causing shivers to run through him; it was being around too many strangers and too many fires. For Dean those fears bubbled to the surface if he had to leave Sam out of sight in the car. Fortunately, their nightmares took turns. The one time they'd had dueling nightmares on the same night they'd gotten thrown out of their motel. Those were easing off, getting fewer and farther between for he and Dean. At least now they both had multiple nights in a row with peaceful night's sleep.

If the night wasn't peaceful then Sam took comfort in the fact his brother was right there whether he was giving or receiving the comfort.

While Dean hit the shower, Sam settled on his bed, laptop resting on his knees, Valkyrie curled beside him. The TV droned in the background. Sam did a search of news stories for the last three or four months for the area in general.

"Find anything?" Dean padded across the room, toweling his hair dry. As he walked by the bed Valkyrie's ears got a gentle swipe from Dean's hand, as did Sam's leg.

Sam looked up. "Huh?"

"Case? Any info? Or are you surfing cartoons?"

Ignoring Dean's jibe, Sam chewed on his lower lip. "It happened again, in the bar earlier, didn't it?" he blurted out. Yeah, smooth going, Sammy.

Dean stilled for a few beats, then turned away to search for clothes in his duffel. Valkyrie lifted her head, looked from Sam to Dean then turned in a circle, yawned and flopped back down. Her head resting across Sam's feet.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Dean was carefully not looking at Sam while he spoke.

Sam snorted and shut the laptop, shoving it on the table between their beds. "Like Hell you don't!" He'd taken the plunge and now was determined to see it through. "I was sitting in the car when you had that dream and I was right next to you in the bar when you—"

"I didn't _do_ anything." Dean said quietly.

"Yes! You did. Do you think I don't notice when you zone out and look like you're going to pass out?"

"I do NOT pass out."

Huffing, Sam pointed to the laptop. "You spent months researching what to do for me, and you won't let me do any of it for you," he shouted. "We have all these things we do for me, rules and whatever the Hell else. They're good enough for me, but not for you?!" he snapped out.

"Sam, drop it." Dean's voice was low, a warning.

"No," Sam challenged, issuing his own warning. "What did you see?"

"Sam." The word was pushed between clenched teeth.

Sam stood his ground. "What did you see? What was it?" Off the bed in the next instant, Sam was right up in Dean's face. When Dean stood looking at him, silent, something in Sam snapped. "What the goddamn hell did you see?" The closest dresser was cleared in one swipe of Sam's arm.

Dean glared, silent and dangerous.

"Dean?" Reaching out, Sam grabbed Dean's arm with his hand. The way Dean's eyes dropped to his hand then came back up to his face told Sam he'd pushed too far. Dean's free hand came up, shoving hard against Sam's shoulder with his palm.

"I…said…_no_."

Letting his fingers drop from Dean's arm, Sam stood there watching his brother, not sure exactly what to do.

Dean stared back for what seemed like forever before turning on his toes and stomping to the other side of the room. Boots and a shirt pulled on, he grabbed Valkyrie's harness and leash. "Valkyrie!"

The dog was at the door, sitting up and looking tentatively between them in a flash.

"Where are you—?"

"She needs a walk."

Sam jumped when the door slammed shut.

The number of TV stations for Sam to flip through had been long since been extinguished when Dean came back through the door. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't look ready to commit murder either.

Valkyrie was wagging her tail furiously and prancing like she'd gotten a grand prize. At least one of them had enjoyed the walk she'd been taken on. Once her harness was off, she wiggled her way to Sam's bed, nosing his hand for more attention.

He patted her head, "Did you have a good walk?"

Dean ignored him, shed his boots and jeans and got into bed, rolling so his back was to Sam.

Giving up on conversation or concentrating on anything, Sam kicked the sheet and blanket down, slid his legs underneath and pulled them up. He clicked off the light, but the room wasn't very dark. Valkyrie spent a few minutes making a nest at the foot of Dean's bed before he threw a pillow to her. She immediately burrowed into it and was asleep in seconds.

He'd just about thought Dean was asleep and was drifting off himself when Dean's voice floated at him. "You, sitting on that burning pyre." He spoke so softly that if Sam hadn't been awake and listening he'd have never heard.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as much to block the pain as to block his own memory of being forced by a spirit to sit on a pile of burning wood and light himself afire. "I'm sorry you saw that. Though, I have to admit I'm not sorry you were there." God that sounded so selfish. "I'm sorry, that's not—"

Dean actually chuckled at that. "I know what you meant."

"We can talk about it."

The rustle of sheets, and the shifting of Valkyrie against the pillow accompanied, Dean rolling to his back. "I know." He sighed. "Rules are rules and _we_ did decide on them. Not now though, okay? Tomorrow or the day after."

"Promise?" Sam didn't want Dean thinking he'd forget or let this slide. When positions were reversed Dean was relentless in making sure Sam opened up about his dreams, reminding Sam over and over how bottling them up made every emotion that much worse.

"Yeah."

Sam didn't let his eyes close or allow himself to fall asleep until he was sure Dean was sleeping.

* * *

Traipsing around the woods on a bright, sunny morning wouldn't have bothered Sam so much; even if he was traipsing around South Dakota looking for evidence of a werewolf.

Werewolves were scarce, but predictable creatures. They followed a definite set of behavior patterns. This werewolf, if it was indeed a werewolf, didn't seem to follow any established pattern. It didn't just prowl and hunt at night, but was out stalking prey in the broad daylight. Most werewolves targeted very specific victims, and for specific reasons; mainly food and to populate.

This one seemed to hunt and kill for no other reason than it could. Bodies were left mangled and dismembered. They'd never heard of a body being left, either it was devoured, or the person was bitten and infected, later changing to a werewolf. To kill for what seemed the joy of it was definitely _not_ werewolf behavior. Which brought Sam back to the question if it wasn't a werewolf then, what the heck was it?

He had no ready answer for that. Neither did Dean nor Bobby. It was a rare thing when all three of them were stumped; usually one of them saw something, discovered some fact to give them clues. Not since early high school had Sam been so stumped on what they was hunting. Nothing was adding up.

Forge pointed to a spot a few yards ahead, "That's where I first saw it."

The ground was still stained blood dark. Underbrush and plants were smashed at odd angles and small ridges of damp leaves and soil swirled across the path.

While Dean stepped around the area, Sam stayed planted on the trail, blocking anyone or anything from walking into the area. Kneeling down, Dean used a stick to lift up some of the leaves. "How'd you know?" He pulled a few strands of hair and part of a claw from the ground.

Forge wrinkled his nose and shrugged. "I dunno, the screaming, the blood, the limbs flung _away_ from the bodies. Carnage like that is pretty hard to miss or forget."

Sam turned away so neither Dean nor Forge could see how he was grinning at their exchange. Dean was hell bent on answers and Forge was equally hell bent on sarcasm.

Dean straightened and gave Forge a genuinely perplexed look. Sam focused for a few seconds on his toe scuffing the ground. A conversation with Dean concentrating on one thing and talking about another was confusing at best, even Sam got lost on occasion. Forge had completely missed the meaning of Dean's question.

"How'd you know about Sam and me and the McCreedy brothers' and Redding's spirits?"

"Oh." Forge looked between them, somewhat sheepishly. He dipped his head at Sam. "Well, first Sam calls and asked me about how their bodies were disposed of, but you'd called me asking the same questions a week earlier." He smiled at them, the picture of innocence. "I figured you were having some trouble."

Dean's eyebrows went up and his head dropped forward. Sam met his eyes and shrugged.

Forge held up both hands and let them fall, hitting his thighs, "What? You two corner the market on deductive reasoning? I _am _a detective. And as I recall I pegged you as hunters pretty quick."

"Yeah about that too?" Sam picked up where Dean's questions left off.

"I'm a detective." Forge shrugged as if that explained everything and stepped closer to Dean. "What's that?"

Dean silently held out his open hand. Hair and slivers of nail rested in his palm. Forge peered down at them, but didn't touch. Looking past him to Sam, Dean rolled his eyes and mouthed the word _cops_ making Sam smile again.

A few more minutes' searching gave up nothing else so they moved on.

"It chased me through there." Forge pointed out the direction. Dean took the lead, Forge following and Sam bringing up the rear.

After another quarter mile or so Forge stopped. Dean wandered farther up the trail, Sam stood next to Forge. The man shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched in on himself ever so slightly.

It was something Sam recognized instantly. "Coming back, facing the place without the events is surprisingly helpful."

Forge's eyes raked over Sam's face before he turned away.

"Especially when you know being here now isn't going to turn into a replay of then." Sam took a step forward. The guy had _tried_ to help both he and Dean all those months ago. Sam wanted to return the favor. Besides, he knew it to be truth and good advice.

Eyeing him again, Forge took a few steps forward, coming to a halt midway between him and Dean.

"Hey, Sam, check this out."

Moving past Forge, Sam was at Dean's side in a few long strides. His brother was kneeling down, poking at something covering the grass and weeds on the ground. Sam hunkered down next to him. "It looks familiar, but I can't—"

Dean pulled out the EMF meter and scanned the ground, shaking his head. "Nothing. We should have brought Val, she's better than this thing."

"She'd make great werewolf snacks too," Sam pointed out. They'd left their dog in the car exactly for that reason. Dean nodded and pocketed the EMF meter. "What _is_ that? I know I've seen it somewhere before."

"Got anything we can put some in?" Dean asked.

Sam automatically started patting down his pockets. He started a bit when a small jar and a tongue depressor appeared in front of him.

Forge rolled his eyes. "Cops."

Dean took the offered jar and piece of wood, muttering, "We should buy some of these."

Bits of something gooey and sticky were scooped into the jar. The stuff had no definite color, seeming to reflect whatever color it was near. There was a slight odor, nothing too offensive, but nothing Sam would want to spend time sniffing either. It had a gelatinous look to it, shimmying when the jar was moved. Dean spent a minute holding the jar up to the light, turning it one way, then another before he shrugged.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and did a brief survey of the treetops. "Yeah."

Forge snickered.

After handing off the jar of glop to Sam, Dean headed back the way they'd come. "Maybe our werewolf has a cold and that's its snot."

Sam made sure the top was screwed on extra tight before sticking the jar of snot-goop into his jacket pocket and followed Dean.

"So, what happened to you here?" Dean asked Forge.

"I don't remember much other than that thing grabbing me. This is as far as I got before it caught up to me. The thing ran me to ground, literally. There were lots of claws. It hurt. This is where they found me."

Dean seemed to digest that before asking, "And you were taken where again, exactly?"

"Where it is exactly, I don't know; your friend Mr. Singer wouldn't let me see the route we took. But it's called Haven, it's a legend—"

"I know what it is," Dean cut him off.

"You do?" Sam wasn't sure why he was surprised, Dean seemed to know everything about hunting. "You never said anything."

"Sammy, I've been there."

Sam's face must have dropped as much as it felt like it did, because Dean just laughed.

"So have you," Dean said conversationally, like he was talking about some pizza parlor.

"I have?"

"Yep. Don't you remember? Well, maybe not, you were only eight or nine or so I guess, just another stopover for us at that time."

Sam had been so many places in his life he couldn't possibly remember them all. Dean was right, if he'd been there it was most likely nothing more than another place to spend a few nights to Sam at that age.

"Bobby took us there. He wanted us to know about hunting heritage." Dean smiled and dropped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "So, I guess we go back and learn some more."

As they made their way back to the car Dean called Bobby to fill him in on what they'd seen. Sam couldn't help feeling some excitement curling around his belly at the thought of going to the legendary village. Dean hardly ever told him about these things, probably thinking Sam would find them boring, but the opposite was true. One thing Sam did enjoy was learning the past, the history of the life he'd had foisted upon him.


	5. Chapter 4

_Many thanks to everyone reading and to Cookie6 for the awesome beta! _

_Thanks to everyone who is so very kind to comment, I love every one left. I've had several comments from anonymous readers or readers who commented but I can't respond via this site...many thanks to you folks, I'm so gratful for your kinds remarks._

* * *

They'd gotten about half the way back when Dean heard a low growl. Sam and Forge must have heard it at the same time because they both stopped walking. Sam immediately pulled a knife tipped with silver out from under his jacket. The subtle glint and color change from a thin strip of silver running the length of the blade caught the light and reflected it in different patterns as Sam moved. His gun was useless, they both knew it.

Forge's handgun was out in seconds.

"That's not gonna work," Dean warned. He had his own gun out, turning in a slow circle, scanning the area.

Forge muttered. "So give me something that will."

"You need silver bullets." Dean tipped his chin at the gun he carried.

"Technically," Sam corrected, "they're silver _and_ lead; silver is too soft. They're a bitch to make, so we don't have many, usually just enough for one gun."

Without taking his eyes off the surrounding woods, Dean bent and fished a knife from the strap on his ankle. "Here." He held it out to Forge.

Grimacing, he bit out, "I don't plan to get that close." Forge took the offered weapon despite his protest.

"Trust me, you don't get much farther away with this either." Dean's gun turned side to side a fraction.

"Silver and lead bullets are softer than regular ones," Sam added. "Not much range. Penetration is better at closer distances. The closer the better."

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged at Forge, offering him a silent apology. Sam sounded like he was giving a lecture to some class. On second thought maybe he was. "Stay behind us."

"No! What do you mean, _stay behind us_? I don't need looking after." Forge glared from Dean to Sam and back again. "Do I _look_ like I need looking after?" If he had feathers to puff out he would have, Dean was sure.

Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead. "It already attacked you. It has your scent. It's after you."

"Oh." Forge contritely took a step back.

"Again with the _oh_." Dean looked over at his brother and quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry." Forge tipped his head back and spoke to the sky. "I guess I watch the wrong crap on TV."

"You know," Dean snapped, "maybe you can just listen to us and take our word that we know about these things." Dean twisted to his left, following the sound of another growl.

"Guys." Sam stepped farther from them and closer to the edge of the trail.

"Maybe you could open that smartass mouth more often and explain the details," Forge shot back.

"Guys!"

"Oh, _I'm_ a smartass? Have you listened to yourself?" Dean threw his free hand in the air and turned another slow circle trying to pinpoint where the growling originated from.

Sam shouted, "GUYS!"

"_What_?!" Forge barked.

"Hey. Don't you yell at him." Dean swung around to face Forge, back to the trees.

"Dean!"

"What?!"

Forge waved his hand at Sam, "You yell at him."

"That's different!" Sam snapped the words out at the same time Dean did. Dean held up one hand for silence when there was movement through the woods near the trail.

"You see it?" Dean lowered his voice, backing toward Sam.

Sam scanned the area, shaking his head. He turned so his back was to Dean, taking a few steps in Dean's direction. Dean heard growling from the opposite direction, closer than the first growl.

"The thing is pretty big." Forge held the knife Dean gave him in front of him, sidestepping and watching the trees.

"Yeah," Dean rasped out. "But—"

Something _huge_ crashed through the trees, heading toward them _fast_. While he and Sam had been closing the distance between them there was still at least ten feet separating Dean from his brother. Cold chills ripped down Dean's spine when a blur of brown fur and claws erupted onto the trail heading straight for _Sam_. For a few seconds Dean expected it to veer right and attack Forge.

From the way Sam's face went from startled to plainly afraid it's what he'd expected too.

It didn't. Moving at Sam faster than Dean could get a shot off, the only thing Dean saw clearly was the open mouth and elongated fangs about to crash headlong into his little brother. Dean's heart skipped a few beats, skittered to a stop and restarted with a slam.

Sam scrambled backwards trying to get enough room between himself and the attacking werewolf to use his knife.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, gun up and moving at the werewolf. Even at this distance it wasn't close enough. He couldn't be sure the softer silver laden bullets would kill the creature. He'd hit it, but he needed to be one hundred percent sure the shot would be fatal or it could do irreparable damage to Sam. A wounded one was twice as dangerous.

Sam's response was a harsh grunt. Dean was barely able to follow all the movement. Something flashed across his line of sight hitting Sam. Sam hit the ground. Forge was covering Sam with his own body. The momentum from their combined weight shoved them across a few feet of ground before Forge rolled across Sam's shoulders and bounced to his feet.

By the time Dean aimed and had a clear, closer shot the thing had disappeared back into the woods. Everything was a haze as he closed the distance between him and Sam. Grabbing Sam's hand, Dean hauled him to his feet.

"Are you okay? Did it…?"

Sam looked down at his torso and legs, shaking his head. The hand Dean gripped trembled but didn't pull away. "N-no. Never touched me." His eyes raised to meet Dean's then shifted to Forge. "Thanks. Again."

"No problem." Forge was on his feet, brushing off his jeans.

Dean turned and stared at the spot in the trees the werewolf had vanished. It'd gone after _Sam_. It had Forge's scent from the other day, and it'd gone after _Sam_. "Why'd it go after you?"

Sam shook his head again, pulled free of Dean and bent to collect his knife. "I don't know. Maybe there're two?"

"That was the same one." Forge said.

They both turned to look at him.

"How do you know? How can you tell?" Sam asked in a soft, shaky voice.

Forge shrugged. "I'm a cop. I notice things. Same color pattern and markings. It moved the same as the one the other day." He brushed past them. "Don't you think we should follow it before it gets too far away?"

"No. We go back. We're not prepared for this. There's something wrong about this." Dean stuffed his gun behind his back.

"Ya mean other than we're talking about a mythical monster?" Forge pointed out, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Obviously, genius, since it just mowed down both you and Sammy, it's not mythical." Dean stopped, taking a deep breath. "They don't attack during the day, but this one has a few times. They always follow the scent of someone they've attacked and not killed, but this one goes right by you to Sam, who it's never met. We need to hunt this thing down, and fast, but we need more bullets and more information." He patted Sam's shoulder and stepped closer to the trees, looking up and down the trail. "Besides, it's long gone by now. You saw how fast they are. We'll never catch one chasing it on foot. We need a trap."

The look on Forge's face was plain and clear. He didn't agree with Dean, he most likely wanted to charge into the woods to find the creature. What he'd find, Dean knew, was his death. It had been a fluke Forge survived the first attack, at least that's what Forge wanted them to believe. Dean wasn't too sure he was completely onboard with that.

Dean's anxiety scaled back barely a small amount when they stepped clear of the woods. Forge's car was parked beside the Impala so while Sam wandered off across the parking lot to call Bobby to get them directions to Haven, Dean and Forge stayed between the cars. Dean leaned on the Impala; Forge faced him, settled comfortably against the side of his own vehicle. He caught how Forge's eyes watched as Dean tracked Sam's movements.

"The kid looks good." Forge's toe nudged against Dean's foot.

"Thanks." Dean looked down, grinned and nodded. "He's doing great."

"One thing Mike Redding was right about, Sam's in capable hands."

Dean felt a flush work along his cheeks from the compliment. The sudden and unexpected wave of anger boiling through his middle caught him off guard. This was the same man, he reminded himself, who'd caused Sam to doubt himself so much. Forge might have had the best of intensions, but Sam nearly died because he wasn't straight with them. Keeping focused on his brother, Dean worked to keep his face a careful neutral.

He was saved from any further conversation when Sam shut his phone, pocketed it and jogged the short distance to join Dean against the Impala. "Bobby'll be here in a bit. We can follow him."

Staying out in the open they took Valkyrie to the grassy area near the parking lot. Picnic tables were scattered about, as where charcoal grills. There was no sign the werewolf had been to this part of the reserve, but Dean wasn't letting his guard down. The thing was already too unpredictable. It might look like a werewolf, but it sure didn't act like a typical one.

Forge waving at a truck pulling up near them signaled Bobby's arrival. Jumping to the ground, Bobby's smile was downright evil when he pulled a rag out of his back pocket.

"Aw, come _on_!" Forge threw both hands in the air.

When Bobby simply waggled two fingers at him Dean couldn't help laughing. Sam put one hand over his mouth, turning away and snickering, he shooed Valkyrie into the car.

"At least let me wear a clean blindfold this time." Forge grouched and stomped off to Bobby's truck.

* * *

Watching how Sam's eyes lit up, then widened after they'd parked their car and went into the village on foot delighted Dean more than he thought it would. He barely remembered being here, so Sam's memory was probably even sketchier.

Bobby had brought them here as children, wanting to show them hunting had a heritage, a purpose beyond revenge and hate. Dean had been too gunho at that age to hunt, he was too young he saw now, to truly appreciate what others before them went through. Sam had been at an age where he was simply oblivious. It wasn't until years later they heard about the village of Haven again and took the time to learn the legends.

Dean had wanted for some time now to bring Sam here, but it seemed things always got in the way. He'd kept it on the back burner of his mind for a long time. It was something to help Sam feel good about what they did, and Dean jumped at any of those opportunities he could find.

The village was a handful of houses and buildings, one small church and a school with swings set to one side of its tiny yard. Most the structures were stone and wood, or log cabin constructs. The only clues they hadn't stepped back in time a hundred or so years were satellite dishes, electrical wires and various vehicles scattered over the entire area. Small gardens dotted the areas between the buildings as did the occasional livestock pen.

Valkyrie went as far as her leash allowed, ears up, and eyes darting everywhere checking out the various sheep, goats and chickens. Sam's eyes darted around checking out everything else. Dean felt as if he'd brought the three of them to some amusement park for hunters.

Sam bumped his elbow into Dean's side. "Is this where Bobby brought Carter?"

"I think so. I don't know where else he'd take him."

"You okay with this?" Sam started lagging, so he and Dean were several steps behind Bobby and Forge.

"I'm good, Sam. I'm fine."

Sidestepping so he could face Dean, Sam snorted. "Yeah, you sound it." Shrugging and putting one hand on Dean's shoulder, Sam forced him to stop. "Dean, I'm just saying…I know it's hard for you."

Dean drew in a deep breath, counted to five and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. When he looked up he made sure he caught and held Sam's gaze. "Sammy, it's okay. You were there too. All that shit happened to _you_." More so was Dean's opinion. Sam had been at the mercy of first a set of killers, then their spirits then Marlin and Del Villar. Sam had been trapped and confined. In each instance Dean had at least had more freedom and more choices to fight back. Though he wasn't by any means downplaying his own hurts and traumas, Dean knew being without any action, any choices made things that much worse for anyone. What Sam didn't completely understand and what Dean didn't completely know how to explain was the best therapy for Dean was healing Sam.

"Yeah, but the difference is, I was forced to not bottle everything up. _I_ have someone who takes care of me and is always on guard."

He had to look away from Sam's quiet confession. Dean's eyes stung, he coughed and stared beyond Sam to the village. "So do I." He'd barely whispered the words, but he knew Sam heard him. Sighing, Dean pulled his eyes back to meet Sam's. "We'll talk about it all you want. Not here. Later."

"Dean—"

He held up one hand, cutting off Sam's protest. "I promise. I'll talk about whatever you want, but when it's just you and me."

Sam gave him that look that read he wasn't exactly sure, but he dropped the issue. Dean was well aware he could put Sam off for only so long, and his time was running out.

The small building Carter Bitner lived in doubled as a clinic. It was a stone and log building. The inside was surprisingly homey, but then after so many years living in a prison it stood to reason Carter would cozy up his surroundings now. The furniture and curtains over the screen windows were in deep greens. There was a couch that looked soft enough small children could get lost in it, and two arm chairs sat near a fireplace. There was no fire lit, though it was obvious there had been one recently. Dean guessed Carter had been clued in since he had a space heater going. There was a kitchen with a breakfast nook housing a table and chairs. Two doors were off the main room, and a longer hallway. He pointed out the clinic was connected to his living area with that hall. The other two doors were bedrooms with their own baths.

Carter seemed downright happy to see the brothers, offering them both warm handshakes. Dean caught how his eyes skimmed over first him, then Sam, scrutinizing them both. Sam, after being polite, retreated to the table and chairs in the breakfast nook. Dean ignored the look Bobby shot him when he ambled r casually and leaned one hip on the table.

Bobby would never understand, could never understand how being around these two men, Carter and Forge affected he and Sam. They were friends, yes, but Dean was sure Sam had the same reactions he did. Carter's presence brought back memories, Dean having to kill other men to save his brother. Sam being locked in a sweatbox, some prize in a sick fight with psychopaths. Staying to themselves even in a room of people was one way they protected themselves and each other. For Dean, his own inner stress scaled back considerably when he knew his brother was safe. He suspected it was much the same for Sam.

Valkyrie, however, had no such issues. At Carter's greeting to her of, "Who is _this_?" She wagged her way to him, turning in circles as he petted her, sneaking between his knees to plant kisses on his neck.

"Valkyrie. Fortunately we'd just come off a difficult hunt and had left her here with Bobby when we…met you." Sam said, fingers playing along the edge of the table and eyes focused somewhere along the wall behind Carter.

Carter laughed at Valkyrie's antics. "I think she likes me."

"Don't be too impressed, she likes everybody." Dean added. As if on cue the little dog wiggled her way to Forge and nosed his hand then licked his fingers and leaned against his leg when he scratched her ears. "See?"

Forge sneered, but said nothing. Valkyrie thumped on the ground, rolled over and held up her paws for a belly rub from him.

"We found this near where Forge was attacked." Sam held up the jar of glop. "Shit looks familiar, but I can't place it, neither can Dean." Sam opened the jar and scooped a small amount onto one finger. He tapped his thumb and finger together then pulled them apart watching as the goo oozed in stringy, glistening strands between them.

"Yeah. _Any_ idea what that is, it's driving me nuts. I _know_ I've seen it before." Dean crinkled his nose, seriously, did Sam have to play with that crap?

Carter ducked his head, crossed both arms over his chest and leaned against the back of the couch. He cleared his throat and coughed, watching his feet.

"Is that—?" Forge looked at Bobby, but pointed to Sam.

Bobby nodded.

Sam looked at Dean, eyebrows scrunched together. Dean shrugged and shook his head, looking at Sam. "What is it?"

"It's…ah…" Bobby took off his hat and rubbed one hand over the back of his head. "Um…shifter skin…after it sheds."

Dean's head dropped forward. "Come again."

"That's the stuff shape shifters leave behind when they shed a skin. It repels werewolves." Bobby explained.

Sam froze. Dean swiveled to face his brother fully. For nearly a half minute the two of them stared at one another before Sam was up and running at the kitchen sink.

Dean darted after him, grabbing his wrist as Sam turned on the water. He thrust Sam's hand under the running water, ignoring how Sam yelped and protested it was cold. "Wash that shit off. Do you have to play with everything?" Dean growled.

"Why would I even _think_ that's what it was?" Sam jerked his hand away and wiped it dry when Dean came at him with a wire brush. "How did you know that? How did you even get that?" He glared at Bobby.

Shrugging, Bobby extracted files from a carryall. "Thought you boys knew."

Dean was offered a small stack of case files. He flipped through them for a minute before setting them on the table. Sam, muttering and grumbling under his breath resettled at the table, carefully moving the jar of shape shifter snot away with the back of one hand.

Pulling his laptop out from his bag, Sam's eyes flicked to the files. "Got internet here?" he asked.

Carter grinned. "You betcha, Sam. Free Wi-Fi for everyone."

"All right." Sam chuckled and opened the top file while the computer booted up.

Pointing to the files, Bobby cleared his throat and spoke. "That top file there, Sam, is who I think is our werewolf, or whatever. The rest are later victims. But that guy, Randy Belle is who I narrowed down the first attack to."

"Patient zero." Dean snickered then twisted to quirk an eyebrow at Sam when Sam's toe poked the back of his calf. Sam shook his head and acted as if he didn't notice Dean turning to him.

"Wow, the things you learn on TV." Forge quipped, his tone dry he crossed both arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side, giving Dean a smartass smile.

Dean ignored him. "Nothing before this guy?"

"Not that I could dig up. He reported being carjacked and about a month later the attacks to this area started. Whatever got him I'm guessing moved on or was killed." Bobby said.

"That's at least one thing that fits a pattern, other than the originator vanished." Dean straightened and paced to the center of the main room. "We got an address on him, so that's our next stop. We'll go check it out. Bobby can you rustle us up some more ammo to use on this thing?"

Bobby started to nod but almost at once cut his gaze to Sam.

Dean heard Sam's hand thump against the table and turned in time to meet Sam's eyes. "We're screwed." Sam announced. "We are so goddamn freaking screwed it's not even in the screwed up category."

"Huh?" Dean motioned to his brother's laptop.

"We're so screwed." Sam repeated.


	6. Chapter 5

_Thanks everyone for reading. Many thanks to my beta, Cookie6._

* * *

"The damn thing has _what_?!"

Sam couldn't help it, despite a serious situation turned even more serious he grinned stupidly at Dean's reaction. It'd been a standing joke between them ever since Dean's voice changed and deepened years ago. Sam looked up at his brother and raised his eyebrows.

"Did not." Dean snarled out, one finger pointed at Sam.

"Did. Cracked like melting ice." Sam snickered. Dean repeatedly claimed his voice did _not_ crack, no matter what. Sam knew differently.

"We need to focus on the issue at hand." Dean stalked to the main room. "My voice does not crack." Clearing his throat Dean looked around the room, making eye contact with each man before letting his gaze settle on Sam. "How the _hell_ did the damn thing get rabies and how the _hell_ do you know it has rabies?"

"Don't yell at me, I wasn't the one who gave it rabies." Sam flipped his laptop around so they could all see. "About a year ago a man by the name of Joseph Ross showed up in the emergency room of a hospital in Chicago. He died shortly after being admitted from what was thought to be a head injury, though according to this there was no apparent trauma found on him. He was an organ donor and," Sam waved at the computer, making a face, "His parts were donated out. A few months afterwards the transplantees started getting sick, but not from rejection. Two died before it was discovered they'd contracted rabies from the organs donated by Ross."

Dean shook his head. "That's…insane. This poor guy gets a—?"

"Liver." Sam said.

"Gets a liver from some dude who has rabies and _then_ gets nailed by a werewolf? Man that's just bad luck even on our scale of bad luck." Dean sat down in the chair next to Sam. "How can that even be possible?"

"Actually," Carter said from across the room, "It's happened more than once, people receiving organs and the donor had a disease they transmitted to the receiver. The donors are tested for disease, but you can't possibly test for everything. Most American doctors wouldn't think of rabies, it's too uncommon here in people, I've never seen a case and I bet most doctors would tell you the same thing. Not unless someone came to them saying they'd been bitten by some animal. Rabies can take up to six months to gestate, so any obvious bite or wound would have long since healed. Rabies is a neurological disease, and that article said Ross had signs of head injury, same symptoms." Carter shrugged. "Heck, I could probably come up with fifty different diseases with the same symptoms."

"This explains a lot." Sam showed them the list of the werewolf's behavior he'd made. "A huge sign of rabies is anything infected acts outside of normal behavioral patterns."

"Which is what this thing has been doing, or so you all keep telling me." Forge looked around at the others. "Does that mean anyone bitten who survives could not only turn to a werewolf, but have rabies too?"

They all looked at Carter. He blinked at them. "How should I know? In mammals rabies is only contagious in the last ten days or so before the animal dies."

"So rabies might just kill this thing?" Forge asked.

Sam looked at Dean, they both shrugged. "This is a bit out of our…way off the beaten track out of our experience." Sam scratched the back of his head. "I dunno. I don't know how to find out. There are reports of people who are werewolves healing faster or not being affected by disease. You have to kill one with—" _A bullet to a woman's heart then head_. A wave of nausea crashed into him without warning.

"The only way is with those silver bullets, or by decapitating them." Dean snorted. "That pretty much kills everything. We try to…um…burn them too."

Feeling Dean's leg press against his even as Dean's voice trailed off made Sam's rebelliously churning stomach calm. He reached over and tugged softly on Sam's shirt. "You got an address in there?"

Sam blinked his eyes clear and nodded. "Yeah, there's one in here."

"Don't know how current it is." Bobby said.

Dean pushed to his feet. "Guess we'll find out."

Sam busied himself packing up his laptop. He left the jar of shifter glop on the table.

"Be careful, boys. I'll call you when I have more ammo for you or if I dig up anything else." Bobby pulled the rag from his pocket and smirked at Forge who groaned and rolled his eyes.

With Forge occupying the back seat, blindfolded and bitching, they headed out for Belle's home.

"Can I just shoot him?" Dean's eyes slid to Sam for a few beats before he cracked a grin at Forge's protests.

"I don't care." Sam stifled his own snicker at Forge's indignant "_hey_!"

"Your dog likes me. Dogs are good judges of character."

"She likes everybody." Sam said at the same time Dean did. Sam reached out and patted Valkyrie's back. She stood on the front seat, forelegs hanging over the seatback watching Forge and wagging her tail.

Forge blew out a breath but he seemed to run out of comments for the moment. Or at least Sam hoped so. He was more grateful than he'd ever admit when they left the back road to Haven and hit the main road allowing Forge to lose his blindfold.

The seventies rambler Dean stopped in front of was a nondescript house with dark blue shutters on a street of other nondescript houses. It was a nice neighborhood, middle class, with moderate size lawns and well kept gardens. Even this late in autumn there were many houses with late season blooming flowers in reds and oranges. Sam was just now noticing the leaves were starting to turn color. There was a definite nip to the air despite the bright sunshine. It'd probably be snowing in the next few weeks. Zipping up his jacket he stuck his hands in his pockets against the afternoon chill.

The three men moved cautiously around to the back of the house. The drive led down to a garage big enough for one car. Sidling up to the door, Sam leaned down slightly to peer in the window. He met Dean's eyes and shook his head once, _nothing in here_.

Dean nodded and shifted his eyes to the back of the house. He and Forge moved cautiously to the back porch. It was encased in a white aluminum framework with screen stretched between each section. A jiggle of the door and it popped open. Dean turned and smiled. He waited for Sam to close the distance from garage to porch before ducking through the door.

"This is where we get to the running stop lights part, isn't it?" Forge ambled in behind Dean.

"Maybe." Dean peeked in the windows along the back of the house. He turned to Sam, dipping his head at the more solid door to the house.

Sam pulled out lock picks, bent down and went to work. Seconds later the door popped open with a soft snick of the lock turning. The air in the house was stale and rank.

"This is breaking and entering you know." Forge pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and trailed behind them.

"Yep, I know. Sam was studying law, he explained it to me." Dean's handgun was out, held in front of him and down. Eyes flicking around the room, taking in every detail, and storing it away for later Sam was sure nothing escaped Dean. He sidestepped through what looked to be a family room, sticking his head around the corner to another part of the house. "Gah." He wheeled around to face Sam, back pressed to the wall beside the doorway.

Sam crossed the room to stand beside his brother. Wrist pressed to his nose he concentrated on not inhaling deeply and breathing in through his mouth, out through his nose. Memory of being tied forced to live in similar stench and his own filth jabbed at Sam. He shoved the memory and its horror away with a shudder. Dean looked at him for a long moment, and Sam thought he was holding his breath for a few beats.

Nodding, he offered Dean a quick half-smile which seemed to set his brother at ease. Dean's shoulders and stance relaxed a fraction, he nodded back once. The entire exchange was so familiar to Sam he'd almost not noticed it, or given it much thought. This time, however, he did think. He tucked those thoughts away for later.

"That's sort of nasty." Forge commented, pushing by them both.

"Cops." Dean said in unison with Sam, nodding sagely.

Sam moved through the room, slightly behind Dean and to his right, eyes scanning everything ceiling to floor. "Where's the smell coming from?"

Dean pointed down a hall with his gun, eyebrows raised.

Sam shrugged, it seemed to him the smell came from every corner at once. "How can the neighbors not notice this stink and do something?" He asked quietly.

"Remember Brandon's apartment when we found Valkyrie? How it smelled, and that was in an apartment building. No one went to check it out." Dean glanced back at Sam for a few seconds before stepping into the hall.

"Yeah." Sam would never forget the stench oozing from under the door to Brandon's apartment, the desperate scratching of small paws and how Valkyrie looked around them when they'd first walked in. He'd been appalled realizing not a single person in the building bothered to find out if Brandon was in there or not. Dean was right, people were crazy.

"Hey, guys, in here." Forge's voice came at them from the left.

Sam nearly tripped over Dean when he slammed to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen. "Oh, I'm not eating here."

Sucking in a breath, Sam held it and let it out slowly. The details assaulted him, crashed into him in flashes burned forever into his brain. Dean still stood frozen in the doorway, blocking him from going in entirely. Sam gave his back a quick nudge with two bent fingers. Dean turned his head far enough to make eye contact with Sam, gun never wavering from in front of him. Dean rarely out and out ordered Sam to do anything, but this time was different. He didn't have to say a word for Sam to understand the command issued—_stick close_. Sam nodded. Most times Dean felt the urge to order Sam to do anything it was completely unnecessary since it was what Sam intended to do anyway.

Forge turned in a circle and poked at something on the floor with his toe. "This is sort of bizarre."

"Yeah, werewolves are like that." Dean muttered.

Forge snorted, but kept any further comments to himself.

Bits of rancid meat filled the sink, flies buzzed around. Maggots squirmed over the surface of some of the pieces making Sam shiver. Dean slid another quick glance at him, eyes softening in a way only Sam would see and understand. Sidestepping so he was now between Sam and the sink, blocking Sam's view, Dean twisted on the balls of his feet and looked around the room, head going up, then down to the floor.

"Werewolves don't do this." Sam kept his voice low.

"No." Dean agreed. "Except this one does."

Sam's eyes dropped to the floor when Forge's toe nudged whatever was on the floor again, this time moving it and rolling it over. Crouching down Forge took what looked like a plastic stick about the size of a pencil from an inner pocket and flipped it over. Dean's gaze followed Sam's.

"Gah." Dean grunted and swallowed hard enough Sam heard the spit slide down his brother's throat.

Forge looked up at them and Sam thought he was shaded more green than pink.

The object that had Forge so interested was what Sam could only describe as a hand. There were digits, three looked human, the other three…_did not_. It had obviously been ripped from the attaching arm at the wrist joint. Bits of bone, tendon and muscle stuck out at various lengths and angles. Sam was reminded, yet again, why he chose law and not medicine, though he probably would have aced anatomy without ever cracking open a book. There was no blood, the hand—paw—must have been laying there long enough the blood had dried.

"Not a picky housekeeper, is he?" Dean gagged into the wrist of his free hand for a few seconds. His gun never wavered.

Shaking his head, Forge stood up; eyes moving from the hand to the trail of what Sam presumed was dried blood. The smear across the floor ended at the refrigerator. "Do werewolves have six—?"

"Yes." Sam exhaled, again Dean answered at the same time and in about the same tone.

Forge snorted again. He met their eyes then twisted to look at the refrigerator. The three of them stood there, staring at the appliance for what seemed forever.

Sam sighed, shrugged and waved one hand at the refrigerator. "I suppose we have to open that and look inside."

Dean nodded sullenly, as he widened his stance and trained his gun, held in both hands now, at the closed double doors of the refrigerator.

Forge looked from one to the other. Holding up his plastic stick he asked, "You two ready?" He didn't wait for them to answer. Slipping the stick between the handle and door Forge pulled hard enough to open the door. It swung silently open wide. Forge yelped and jumped away.

"God_damn_!" Dean skittered back two steps. His shoulder bumped into Sam's.

Sam jumped. He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth and turned away abruptly, making a huge effort to breathe through his mouth. Still the stench permeated every square inch of air. Dean's hand landed solid and sure on his shoulder, fingers digging in and squeezing. A quick glance at his brother's face made Sam wonder if Dean was offering support or hanging on to Sam to keep from falling over. Sam decided maybe a bit of both.

It wasn't as if they never saw blood, guts, generally gross things, or smelled them for that matter, but this was above and beyond. Forge looked as if he might just toss his lunch. Sam figured if the three of them were affected by the sight and smell to this degree it must be bad. Sam couldn't do much more than stand and stare, shocked, at the gore.

The air took on a thickness from the stench rolling free of the confines of the refrigerator. It was the sight that was doing Sam in, however. A head. As with the hand, it was plain the head hadn't been neatly removed from its body, but ripped and torn. A side of the skull was caved in and a chunk of brain material hung over the ear.

That wasn't the worst part though.

The really nasty part was the head, as the hand, was part human, part werewolf. The face contorted with pain, partially changed. The eyes hung out of their sockets, dangling and swaying side to side slightly, probably from the motion of the door being opened. One ear was human, the other long, straight and pointy standing over the round part of the head which was split and cracked in more than one spot.

Forge slammed the door shut, jerked around so he faced away from it and leaned his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. "Okay, that gets the grossest thing ever prize. And I've seen a _lot_ of gross."

"Why do I have the feeling we found the originator?" Sam hated how his voice caught in his throat.

Dean's fingers winding around his bicep and tugging pulled Sam's attention away from the refrigerator and its contents. "Let's check the rest of the house." He was backing up, moving out of the kitchen and taking a very unresisting Sam with him.

He and Dean did a quick sweep of two bedrooms along a hall. Forge the other two on the other side of the hall. The attic, which was more like a crawl space on top of the house, was empty other than the remains of a bird nest.

The last place in the house to search was the basement.

Sam wasn't a fan of basements, and had pretty much decided they were all some kind of necessary evil. This one was no exception. Opening the door, Dean paused and glanced back at him, giving him that searching look he was so damn good at. Sam nodded to Dean's unspoken question. _Yes, going down there with you doofus_. Dean would never insist Sam go into the underground rooms. Sam would never refuse to follow his brother or let him go down there alone.

They moved slowly and cautiously down the steps, Dean in the lead, Sam right behind them and this time Forge bringing up the rear. It was a full basement, as big as the house above. Someone had done a lot of work down here. Divided into rooms, Sam caught a glimpse of a laundry room to one side with a work area beyond that. To his right was a child's playroom and through an open door beyond that was what looked like a family room with pool table and a wall of electronics.

Forge tipped his head to the left, the part of the large space with workbench and laundry. He silently moved through to that part of the basement, turning back long enough to grin and give them a thumbs up before disappearing behind a wall.

Sam followed closely behind Dean to the other part of the basement. Even though it was underground, the area was bright and cheery. Sam didn't care, basements were basements and he disliked them all. There was a fireplace at one end with bookshelves lining the walls on either side of it. A built-in desk housed a computer and stereo. Comfortable chairs were scattered about, and a couch was on the wall opposite the built-in desk, wet bar and wide screen TV with all the accoutrements encircled the pool table.

At the very far end of the basement, opposite the fireplace was a heavy wooden door left partially open. They split apart, each walking along one side of the pool table heading toward the door.

"Where do you suppose the rest of the family is?" Dean asked voice low.

Sam shrugged, not sure he wanted to know.

Dean nudged the wooden door open wide with his gun and leaned in to look. Sam stepped up behind him. It took a few seconds, but there was no way the harsh gasp that rumbled up from deep in Sam's chest was going to be stopped from leaving his mouth. With barely a glance at Sam behind him, Dean stepped forward and into the final room.


	7. Chapter 6

_As always many thanks to everyone reading and my awesome beta, Cookie6!_

* * *

Dean didn't have to look back at Sam to know what was happening. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath Dean tried and failed to squelch every thought and emotion roiling through him with such suddenness and ferocity. He knew he should turn and shove Sam away, whether Sam protested or not. He knew he shouldn't stand there staring at the sight before him. He knew both those things and yet he just stood there doing nothing. Sam's harsh breathing then voice, right next to his ear faded away, though Dean knew Sam hadn't moved from his side.

The room was unfinished. The walls stone, the floor dirt. It was probably what the basement looked like before someone finished it and added furniture. Transversing the entire width of the room were thick bars, with one door as an opening. They were embedded in the floor and ceiling with cement. The walls were marred with deep gouges that could have been nothing but claw marks. Blood dotted the room and in one corner was a remote control car and tattered clothing small enough they had to be from a child.

It was a cage, hidden away in this basement.

Dean didn't see the horror of what might have been an entire family turned or eaten by a werewolf in their midst.

_A lit torch had rolled beyond Brandon's cage, igniting other welding torches there. Within seconds that side of the room erupted in flames devouring everything in their path, licking close to the steps._

He couldn't see that, he couldn't see beyond the horror of his brother trapped in a similar cage, hot embers dropping as the room Sam was trapped in was consumed in fire.

_Sam flung himself at the bars, arms reaching through…"Dean…DEAN!!"_

"_I see it, I see it." Dean shouted, but was backing away from Sam's cage, looking around him. He darted closer to Sam, grabbing his head in both hands, "Sam, Sammy…I'll be right back. I'll be back. I have to get something to this open with." Pulling Sam's grip from his arms, pushing Sam to the floor, "I'll be right back Sammy. __**I promise**__."_

His ears filled with the sound of Sam's shouts, begging Dean to flee, save himself, not burn. The roar of the fire had been deafening, the way his skin pinched and tightened over his chest suffocating.

"_I can't get out!"_

"_Sam, stay low, just stay down." Dean was moving backwards, not breaking eye contact until the last possible second._

"_Don't…Dean get out...DEAN...LEAVE!" _

_Shaking the bars, kicking at them Sam's voice rose and cracked,_ "_D E A N_!"

He couldn't leave Sam to burn to death trapped in a cage. He _couldn't_. He _wouldn't_.

_His brother alternated between pleading for Dean to get him out of the cage, and begging Dean to leave and save himself. To live. As if Dean would honestly leave anyone in a burning building, especially not Sam. He flipped junk and tools out of his way, kicking over buckets and tool chests looking for something, anything he could smash the lock holding Sam prisoner. Dean was about to give up, search elsewhere when his eyes flicked over a sledge hammer._

_Gaining control of his lungs, breathing and shoving emotions as far down as he was capable Dean held the hammer's handle end, sprinting forward, swing it with all his force at the lock._

The banging of a sledge hammer against the cage door as he swung over and over rattled through his head, how Sam had skittered away from him when Dean had accidentally hit him.

_Swinging the hammer around so the handle end aimed at the cage he slammed it into the bars, clanging loudly and making the bars vibrate. The action had the desired effect. Dean would only feel guilty about that for the rest of his life. _

_Sam jumped away so fast his back collided with the bars behind him. His eyes widened, turned liquid, a shudder ran through him. He suddenly looked all of ten years old, horribly frightened, vulnerable_. _He hit the bars with the handle again. The impact wasn't square on, the handle bounced off the bars, accidentally slipping through, connecting with Sam's shoulder. Grabbing his wounded shoulder, Sam yelled through clenched teeth, dropping to his knees and doubling over_.

The utter and all encompassing relief when Sam's weight crashed into him after the door finally clanged open and Sam was free.

_When the lock broke and the door popped open Dean stared at it, surprised. Sam pushed to his feet, round eyes fixated on the opened cage door. In the next instant the brothers looked at one another. Dean grabbed the cage door with one hand, opening it wider, reaching in with his other hand for Sam._

_His brain barely had the chance to process the fact there was movement in the cage when he learned the meaning of the expression hit by a flying brick wall. More to the point he was hit with the two-hundred plus pounds of sheer panic that was his brother. Sam latched onto him and they landed in a heap on the floor with enough force the air was knocked from Dean's lungs_.

The burning basement morphed in sickening waves to a desert in New Mexico, watching Sam tumble, barely conscious, from an iron box.

_Grabbing the pry bar, Dean yelled at the box, "Sammy, close your eyes. I'm gonna hit this thing, get you out_." _The end of the box fell away. Sam tumbled out in a heap, squinted, jerked away from his prison_.

Something gripped his arm, _hard_, yanking on him. He jerked away from whoever was trying to keep him from his brother.

"_We have to get him inside. I can help him." Carter reached for Dean's arm, again meaning to reassure._

_Jerking away violently, taking Sam with him, Dean's rage turned on Carter, snarling out, "Get away from him._

"Dean!"

This wasn't happening, these animals weren't dragging Sam out to some desert to die alone and abandoned. He'd won Sam's freedom, his won freedom and still _they_ were between Dean and his brother. Christ he had to get loose and get Sam out of there.

"DEAN!"

The world tilted and spun. Reality shattered through when Dean's back connected, rather roughly, with the bars of the cage. Sam had him by both arms, grip white-knuckled and so tense he was shaking head to foot.

_Sam_. Blinking, Dean took in everything detail of Sam. _Sammy_.

"Yeah," Sam let go of him with one shaking hand and ran it through his hair. "Sammy." His eyes were dark, round and terror wide. Most the color had dropped from his face making his bangs stand out against pale skin.

Dean wasn't even aware he'd said Sam's name out loud. Gulping in a few deep breaths he stared at Sam. His brother wasn't even trying to conceal his fear and confusion. A hot poker struck through Dean's gut, he was looking at the Sam of months ago, the frightened kid constantly battered and assaulted by the spirits of dead psychos. Dean hated that look more than anything he'd ever seen in his life.

Putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, he squeezed and nodded his head. "I'm okay."

"Dean, you're not—"

One hand up, palm out toward Sam, Dean stopped Sam's words with a look. "I'm s-sor-ry. I'm okay now." The stammering probably wasn't very convincing to Sam. Dean knew it wasn't convincing him much. "Later, Sam, not here, not now. I promise, later."

"Later never comes." Sam grumbled, but dropped his hands away from Dean's arms.

"I promise." Dean repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Movement behind Sam caught his attention, Dean's eyes immediately shifted.

"Are you guys al—" Forge stopped so fast behind Sam he slid a few inches across the floor. His mouth dropped open, his eyes went wide as they moved around the room taking in every detail Dean was sure. "I'm sorry. Oh, God, I didn't know, I couldn't know there was another basement with cages. I'm so very, very sorry." Forge's tone reminded Dean thought it wasn't his fault he really did feel responsible for what happened when Sam was kidnapped.

Dean squared his shoulders and shook off the remaining sensations of panic that clung to him. "No, none of us could. You didn't do anything wrong." He pushed past both Sam and Forge. "I need some air." On his way by Sam his fingers wound around Sam's wrist in a vice grip. Sam needed air too.

Sam's arm wasn't released until Dean was outside the house, down the drive and to his car. Leaning against it, he pressed his hands to his face for a few beats, drawing in as deep a breath as possible, let it out slowly, and repeated a few times.

"Sam…I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's not like any of us could know." Sam reached through the car window to rub the top of Valkyrie's head.

Dean shook his head. "No. I know. I meant for what just happened. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to worry about me reacting like that and you definitely shouldn't have to deal with it. Christ you were the one locked in a cage and I'm the one freaking out."

Sam blew out a sharp breath, playfully shoved his elbow into Dean's side and smiled for a second. "You shouldn't have had to deal with all the shit with me you did either. But you did, you still do." He shrugged and settled against the car close enough Dean felt every movement of muscle under Sam's clothes. "Same thing, really."

The tight band of ache around Dean's chest loosened and slipped away. He rubbed his forefinger between his eyebrows and over his forehead; shoving away the final images of how the scenario of Sam trapped in a cage in a burning room could have gone. He focused on how it did go. He focused on the fact his brother stood solid and alive beside him.

When Forge walked down the drive to them Dean straightened, reached behind him and patted Sam's arm then did what made him relax the most and took a half step to the side and in front of Sam. The look Bobby would have given him flashed through Dean's mind. Forge didn't give him anything other than sheer apology.

"Guys—"

"Seriously," Dean cut him off, feeling sorry for the man. He was a cop, but he was a decent man, not mean and Dean would never forget how he'd tried to warn and help them in the days after Sam's rescue from the McCreedy house. "It's fine. We're fine. Shit happens. We deal."

Forge arched an eyebrow, a look that clearly read, _yeah right you're both fine_, but kept his mouth shut.

"I suppose this is technically a crime scene." Sam said. He still leaned casually against the car, rubbing Valkyrie's ears through the window. Dean knew he was anything but the relaxed picture he presented.

Forge rubbed the back of his neck, turned and glanced back at the house, then his feet. "Yeah, I guess. Problem is I don't know if I should call it in to homicide or the animal warden." He looked from one to the other. "What do you suppose happened to them?"

"Nothing good." Dean shook his head. "Maybe we can use this house to trap it. God I hope there's only one."

"The one we saw yesterday was the same one who attacked me." Forge insisted again.

"How do you know for sure?" Dean gave him a hard look, not sure he liked the explanation from the day before.

"Told ya already. I'm trained to notice things."

"We don't even know if it comes back here, or if it will again. Someone was in that cage and it looks like someone let them out. There was no damage to the bars or door or lock." Sam said quietly, still against the car and behind Dean.

Nodding, Dean turned his attention to the house, scanning the front yard and front of the house. Jogging up the drive and then the front step of the house, Dean opened the mailbox attached to the house next to the door. He turned back to Sam and Forge, shaking his head and trotted back to the Impala. "No mail." He looked around the small step and in the flower beds on either side of it. "No newspapers."

"The refrigerator light was on, it was running and the basement lights worked." Sam added.

Dean sighed. "So someone is collecting the mail and newspapers and paying the electric bill."

"Do werewolves do that?" Forge asked.

"Not normally. But their human halves do. Most werewolves only change following the lunar cycle and at night. Sometimes a person doesn't even know what they become or remember what happens during that time." Dean's voice trailed off when Sam visibly stiffened.

No matter how much he was trying to stay off the subject of prior werewolves it seemed impossible. Forge was asking intelligent, reasonable questions, was helping them with their investigation and he deserved honest, complete answers. Dean knew Sam understood that, but it wasn't making it any easier for Dean to provide those answers. Or to know Sam had to hear them.

Sam straightened and pushed away from the car. He stood watching Dean. "There's only one way we can be sure."

"Yeah." Dean nodded. Forge looked between them again, obviously lost to their private communication. "I'll do it, you wait here."

"No. _We'll_ do it." Sam's expression was placid and his voice soft, but Dean knew if he tried forcing Sam to stay behind by the car there'd be one big, quick attitude change. "I'm sure." He softly answered Dean's next question.

"Guys?" Forge was watching Sam open the backdoor of the car and readjust the window he'd been petting Valkyrie through.

"We always leave both back windows open just enough for her to get out…just in case." Sam palmed his hunting knife, letting that hand drop to his side, arms loose.

"We go back in there and start setting up a trap, this is step one. We have to know if anyone or anything is coming back, so…" Dean shrugged, thumped Forge's shoulder on the way by him and to the house, "…aww heck, just come watch."

Avoiding the kitchen and the basement, Dean stalked through the rest of the house, Sam on his heels and Forge wandering behind Sam by a yard or more. They turned on lights, closed open doors, moved a few pieces of furniture. It took Sam and him not more than five minutes to complete their task.

Forge stood to the side, hands on hips, head cocked to one side, watching. He slowly nodded approval and understanding spreading over his face. "Clever. Very clever."

In his periphery Dean watched Sam stop near the kitchen, but not step into it. Dean came to a halt in the center of the living room, giving it one last visual once over before they left. Forge stood near the front door watching them.

Dean saw the shadow at the same time Sam's eyes met his. Sam barely had time to turn towards the growl reverberating through them when the werewolf slammed into him. One powerful swipe to Sam's arm and the knife spun away, out of his reach. His brother howled in pain. Sam was shoved backwards, legs scrambling to stay under him. Sam and the werewolf tumbled over the back of the couch with Sam landing sprawled on the floor with a strangled groan.

Pistol up, Dean fired. He was too far away for a kill. The bullet grazed the beast's side, making him jerk away from Sam. "Sammy, get outa there!"

Shoving backwards Sam tried rolling to one side as soon as he was clear of the werewolf. Snarling, the werewolf grabbed at Sam's legs, yanking him back. More harsh sounds rasped out of Sam. Dean closed his mind to the pained nearly inaudible whimpers, how Sam's face contorted in agony and the fear skittering through his eyes.

"Sam!" Dean fired again, this time striking the werewolf in the shoulder. It straightened, screaming and growling. That gave Sam a few precious seconds to get clear. On his feet a second later, Sam got no more than two steps when the thing grabbed him again, relentless in its pursuit of its prey. The werewolf's claws sinking savagely into his left shoulder and arm, ripped screams from Sam's throat.

From behind him was a second, deep, primal growl, just as loud as the werewolf's, but different somehow. This growl was deeper, more from the throat than chest. It was drawn out and had a sharper edge. Dean spun around. He barely had time to register the fact there was no werewolf behind him. Confusion took hold when all he saw was Tim Forge. Moving faster than Dean's eyes could track, Forge shot forward, headed straight for Sam and the werewolf, _snarling_.

The werewolf hardly did more than glance up before flipping Sam around, grabbing Sam's hair with the claws of one hand and viciously yanked his head back. Teeth bared it lunged at Sam's exposed throat and windpipe.

Forge crashed shoulder first into the werewolf knocking it a good three feet from Sam. Crumpling to the floor, panting and gagging, Sam's eyes went wide as he desperately looked from Dean to Forge and the werewolf and back to Dean.

Dean simply stood there with his mouth open, watching, stunned.

The werewolf was back up, this time lunging at Forge. It tackled him then was flung backwards and into the wall between the kitchen and living room with enough force that it dented the drywall. Rebounding off the wall the werewolf went after him again, shoving him backwards and onto the floor. Landing flat on his back, Forge curled his legs to his chest and kicked out, catching the werewolf dead center of its chest.

Again, Forge moved faster than Dean's eyes could follow, was on his feet, snarling at the werewolf with a very long and impressive extra set of canine teeth—_fangs_.

Sam gasping and jerking towards his knife got Dean moving. Shoving broken furniture out of the way he was at Sam's side in a few seconds. He grabbed Sam under his arms, wincing as Sam flinched and sucked in short, broken gasps. Sam managed to lurch to his knees, Dean took much of his weight as Sam stayed pressed to his side shivering. Dean heard the back porch door crash under what he suspected was the weight of a werewolf.

Both he and Sam turned to see the werewolf stagger across the back yard and disappear into some trees. Forge stood in the kitchen doorway staring back at them. He grunted and swore under his breath, pulling on his jacket, torn by werewolf claws.

Pointing to the back of the house Forge spat out, "I am sick of that damn thing ripping up my clothes."

When Forge took a step towards them Dean let go of Sam so fast he dropped back with a harsh groan to the floor. Standing so his feet straddled either side of his brother's legs Dean raised his pistol and aimed at Forge's head. "Don't," he warned in a low voice.

Forge looked at him, slowly raising his hands. "Dean—"

"Don't move." Dean felt Sam inch away. He heard his brother's harsh, pained breathing as he struggled to his feet. When Sam's fingers brushed his shoulder, Dean started backing up, pushing Sam as he went. His mind reeled through a fast calculation of how far the Impala was and how fast he could get Sam, injured and not moving well or fast, into the car.

"Come on, guys." Forge took a few steps. "I can—"

Sam stumbled around Dean, knife up he launched at Forge. He more fell into Forge and leaned against him while pinning him to one wall. Forge went backwards willingly. Dean realized he could have easily moved away from Sam or over powered him, even with the silver lined blade of Sam's knife pressed to his throat.

Dean stepped up, his pistol trained on Forge's temple, held in one hand. His other hand he rested on Sam's back, ready to grab him and run if needed. The tremors running through his brother scaled down when Dean made contact and his fingers curled in against Sam's back. Leaning back into Dean's hand was Sam's signal he was ready for whatever would happen next.

"Explain?" Dean finished Forge's sentence. When Forge nodded, Dean snorted. "Fine, but don't forget I think silver bullets to your head might have the same effect as cutting it off."

Forge silently looked from one to the other. He didn't resist a bit when Sam lifted a trembling hand to his lips and pulled one up. Forge didn't look down, but met their gazes with a mild expression as an extra set of fang teeth slid in front of human ones then slipped back into his gums. Dean thought his voice shook a fraction when he asked, "Please?"

"Okay, Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do." Dean snapped out.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: **_Thanks to everyone reading and to my great beta Cookie6!_

_I have a second WIP posted, Colt & Winchester. It's a cowrite with Sojourner84 and is posted under her account. The link to her bio can be found on my bio page._

* * *

"If I'd wanted to turn either you or have you for lunch I could have done that a year ago. It sure would have been a damn sight easier then." Forge ground out. Even though Dean glared unwaveringly at him, Forge heard the man's heart race. Sam's weight against him pinned him to the wall, but only because he allowed it to. "I could have made mince meat out of your friends in Haven and Mr. Singer on several occasions. I didn't."

Dean's breathing slowed.

He had to do something, the smell of Sam's blood oozing from punctures and gashes along one arm were making his mouth water and his stomach churn. Sam's breathing was starting to falter, his heart pounding louder than Dean's.

"I've never killed a human. Ever."

When Sam's eyes slid to Dean's, Forge took his shot because they really didn't have the time for this and Forge really didn't have the patience.

Moving both hands simultaneously and _fast_, Forge grabbed Sam by the shirt collar. His other hand grasped Dean's wrist. Sam was flung away, hitting the ground with a loud thud and louder moan. He felt bad since the move probably aggravated Sam's injuries. Forge reasoned it was better to have him hurting than dead. Hanging onto Dean's wrist, Forge force the hand holding the gun into the air, spun around and reversed their positions. Gripping Dean's arm with enough force to make him suck in his breath and squint against the pain, Forge gave his arm a jerk.

"I've never killed a human." Forge repeated. "But your kid brother is bleeding right under my nose. Cut me some slack." He looked back at Sam, feeling guilty. The kid had gotten to his knees, knife still clutched in one hand. His other arm hung at his side, gripped along with the knife with his good hand. He was pale, trembling and struggling to breathe evenly. "I live ten minutes from here. If you are just willing to listen and put that hate away for a bit we can go to my place, get your little brother patched up and some pain killers and fluids into him. Then we can figure out this mess and stop something that _is_ _killing_ _people_."

"Dean," Sam's voice was thin, strained. The kid was breathing hard and swaying on his knees. "We've met others and we can always kill him later if he's lying."

Glancing back at Sam for a second before Dean leveled a glare at him. "One wrong move—"

"Yeah, we see how silver bullets in the brain affect vampires."

He released Dean and the two of them stepped away from one another at the same time. Dean's pistol lowered as he sidestepped toward this brother. Without taking his eyes from Forge, Dean bent far enough to grasp Sam's good arm and hoist him to his feet. Forge felt a pang of loneliness he hadn't felt in a very long time as he watched them. He could literally feel it roll off them both, how they cared for one another, depended on each other. He had one shot and one advantage and that was Sam. Dean would tolerate himself in danger or worse, but not his brother, not Sam. He doubted very much Dean would hunt the werewolf if Sam were left somewhere unprotected. He doubted even more Sam would hang back, but would insist upon joining his brother in their hunt. Besides it was his fault Sam was hurt. It was his duty to be sure Sam was made better.

Forge sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. "That werewolf attacked Sam twice now and according to you once it has a blood scent it won't quit. My apartment is on the fifth floor of a security building. I'm betting it's going to have a damn harder time getting in there than back in here."

Moving to the couch, throwing both hands in the air when Dean's gun snapped back up and aimed at his head, Forge grabbed a blanket draped over the back. Letting his fangs slide free he gripped the blanket in his teeth and began ripping it into thin strips. He stopped mid-tear, material shreds dangling from his mouth, after about the fourth tear when he realized both Dean and Sam were standing motionless, staring at him.

Grinning wickedly, he simply couldn't resist. "They're great bottle openers too."

Dean simply arched one eyebrow. Sam snorted a "huh." The whole thing would have been comical, or at the very least the beginnings of a bad joke or a worse movie—_two hunters and a vampire chase a werewolf_—if it hadn't been real and deadly serious.

Crossing the room with the ripped blanket in one hand, Forge stopped quickly when Dean sidestepped away, shoving Sam so Dean was positioned between them. Forge extended his arm completely, hand open, palm up, strips of cloth dangling from it.

Dean reached out and took one, handed it to Sam who used it to wipe off as much of the blood as possible. A second, then third narrow piece of cloth was used to wrap around the open wounds on Sam's arm.

Dean pressed yet another to the gash on Sam's shoulder muttering a soft, "Hold that there for now."

Sam nodded, pressed his lips together and took a few deep, shaky breaths. Again Forge felt a rush of guilt and envy. That poor kid had to be in agony. Forge saw how he looked at Dean, waiting for Dean's decision. Forge had long ago forgotten what it was like to have that sort of trust in another person, have someone put so much trust in him. His chest tightened and his gut twisted. He missed that.

Hooking one shoulder under Sam's and taking some of his weight, Dean waved his gun between Forge and the front door. Hands up and out, Forge walked ahead of them, stopping when he got to the front door long enough to hold it open. He stayed to the side and out of reach while they made their way back to Dean's car. Three sets of eyes scanned the surrounding area. Nothing besides them was amiss.

Sam leaned against the passenger side of the car, watching Forge while Dean dug his keys out. Just as Sam was bending into the car, Dean grabbed his arm and jerked his head to the back seat.

"Why? I—"

Pressing his pistol to Sam's hand and closing his fingers around his brother's as they gripped the gun Dean's voice was low, honed for Sam's ears only. "You can cover him?"

Forge watched as Sam bit his lower lip and nodded before easing into the backseat. Forge was painfully aware of how his breath hitched and caught. Sam flinched as he settled in the middle of the seat. Valkyrie immediately bounced across the seat and pressed to Sam's leg. Sam's hand dropped across her shoulders, holding her in place beside him.

"In." Dean left the door open and sprinted to the other side of the car. He was in and settled before Forge had the car door shut.

"Hang a right at the end of the street." Forge said. Turning to see how Sam was, he wasn't too surprised when Dean fisted his shirt and turned him around to face the front then pushed him hard against the seat.

"That's how you knew Redding was one of the killers?" Sam asked. Even though he leaned against the seat between Dean and Forge his voice was soft enough he might have been yards away.

Nodding, Forge admitted, "Yeah. He stunk like decaying flesh and lime. Pretty pungent cologne. Hard to miss."

"What do you eat?"

Forge arched and eyebrow and glanced back at Sam being careful to turn nothing but his head. "Food, same as you. And a supplement of blood. I've had human blood once in nearly three-hundred years and never, _never_ killed a person."

"How do you…?" Dean shot him a glare then turned right at an intersection Forge pointed to.

Forge shrugged and chuckled. "Gotten a lot easier in the past ten years or so, the Internet is a beautiful place."

When Valkyrie wiggled away from Sam and leaned over the seat licking at his face, Sam and Dean both put out a hand to move her away.

"I like dogs." Forge said in a quiet voice.

Dean snapped out, "For breakfast?"

"Dean." Sam hissed, giving Forge an apologetic look.

Forge ignored them and continued. "And they like me. It'd be an awfully lonely world without them."

He saw how Dean's eyes shifted to the rearview mirror, meeting Sam's. They both seemed shocked. When the little dog leaned toward him again, neither brother stopped him from rubbing her ears.

"Pull in that building there. There's an entrance around back, my place is closer to it. We should be able to get in without anyone seeing us."

Dean nodded, guiding the big car to the rear of the building. Forge stood out of reach while Dean helped Sam from the car and took back his gun. They made their way silently to Forge's apartment. Dean kept himself between Sam and Forge at all times. Valkyrie trotted along, staying close to Sam's legs.

They stopped just inside the door, Dean's eyes traveled around the living room and small dining area then took in what he could see of the kitchen from where he and Sam stood. Dean was visibly impressed by the one wall covered with shelves holding books, CD's and DVD's. The widescreen TV along the far wall and over a fireplace made Dean blink a few times then nudge Sam's side and grin.

Dropping his keys on the table beside the door, Forge shrugged out of yet another ruined jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. "What, you were expecting stone walls and guano?"

"I…um…" Dean tucked his gun behind his back and rubbed his neck, "well…ah…"

Sam squirmed out of Dean's grasp, staggered slightly on his way to the couch and dropped onto it. "No, we weren't." He shot Dean a look that made Forge smile, it was pure little brother putting up with his embarrassing and endearing big brother. Sam looked from one to the other, pressing his uninjured hand against the cloth over his shoulder. "Can I have some band-aids and a glass of water?"

"Oh, shit, yeah, I'm sorry." Crossing to the bar at the far end of the dining area, Forge poured Sam a shot of whiskey, handed it off to him on his way to the kitchen.

Dean moved fast, again getting between Sam and Forge, this time snatching the shot glass and downing half of it. "This stuff is too good to waste on someone who drinks it only when he's hurt. Besides he needs baby sips."

"Dean." Sam looked downright indignant now. "This _hurts_." He waved his good hand up and down his left side then downed the remains of the shot Dean handed over.

"There's more over there, help yourself." Forge ducked into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with ibuprofen, bandaging material, a bowl and a pitcher of water. He set everything except the bowl on the low table in front of the couch and backed away, sitting near the fireplace. The bowl he put on the floor at the end of the couch and poured water into it. Again he caught how the brothers exchanged a glance, both their expressions softening.

Dean poured and handed Sam a shot of the whiskey, then grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen from the table, holding it up. At the same time he gave Sam's legs a shove, getting him to swing around and stretch on the couch. He took pillows nestled in the corner of the couch, putting one behind Sam's back and one under his feet, propping them up. Looking up at Forge, Dean sighed, "Please explain to me why you even have ibuprofen, let alone the extra strength, extra large size bottle? You're a _vampire_."

Forge shrugged, "I get sinus headaches and I think I have an allergy to something growing around here in the fall. Or maybe it's tree pollens."

Sam grinned and leaned forward, taking the bottle from his brother. "Thank you."

"Here, drink." Dean perched on the edge of the couch, near Sam's hip, handing him water. While Sam drank, Dean carefully unwound the makeshift bandage.

"Want help?" Forge offered from across the room. He had no delusions. One wrong move, or any move that Dean deemed threatening, especially threatening to Sam, and Forge would be a dead most likely dismembered vampire. While Sam seemed to be relaxing by very small fractions, Dean was on edge and ready to pounce.

"I got it. Just stay back and where I can see you."

Forge crossed both arms over his chest. "You're in _my_ _home_. You do know that, right?"

Sam poked Dean's arm and glared for a second.

"He's a freaking _vampire_, Sam. Tough shit if it hurts his feelings."

"It's okay. I understand. I do, really." Forge could see they differed on their general opinion of him and vampires.

"You said you never killed a human and only ingested human blood once?" Sam asked, holding his injured arm out and away from his body, care not to look at it while Dean cleaned the wounds.

Stopping long enough to give Sam's knee a quick squeeze, Dean said, "We'll get this cleaned up and get you to Carter as soon as we can."

Sam nodded. He looked over at Forge expectantly. Dean twisted a bit to look at him too then returned to cleaning and bandaging Sam's arm, side and shoulder.

Taking a deep breath Forge ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth and pushed his lips together for a few seconds. Looking down at his feet then back up at the brothers he sighed. "Guess I owe you both an explanation."

_March 5, 1770 Boston, Massachusetts_

_Glancing away from the cobbled street long enough to see the setting sun, Tim Forge stepped along, rounding the corner to King Street. He flipped his coat collar up against the wind and chill in the air. Spring was still just a distant rumor. The night was going to get colder he feared. He had no idea what the ruckus was going on outside Custom House, but he intended to get there and find out._

_It hadn't been yet a month that he'd been appointed his new, and hopefully long lasting, position as street bobby. He took his post very seriously. It was the first proper job he'd had. It was his chance for a good life with the woman he loved. Now he could ask Annie to marry him. Even though his salary was small, it was steady. He knew she didn't care much about the money he did or did not make, but Forge did._

_Just as he was coming up on the crowd he saw the soldiers and heard the shouts between them and the people on the street. From somewhere between the buildings came a growl. It wasn't a dog, or even that of any wild animal Forge ever heard. The hair along the back of his neck rose, his skin bristled with gooseflesh and his breath caught despite his best efforts._

_Turning away from the growling he heard someone shout "Damn you! Fire!" Shots erupted into the crowd. People screamed. He glimpsed a few falling to the ground._

_The growling was directly behind him and when he turned, Forge just barely saw the man, his unnaturally long teeth flashing white and lethal in the dying sun. Pain ricocheted from a point on his neck and spread through his entire body. The sound of flowing blood pounded in his ears and as he sank into oblivion he realized it was the sound of blood pulsing through the veins of those around him._

_He came to with a start lying face down on the hard, cold street. Everything was louder, brighter even though night had descended, and the smell assaulting him made him gag and vomit a puddle near his hand._

_Most of all he was hungry. Awful, gnawing, aching hunger. One smell distinguished itself from the rest. One scent drew him to where one of the bodies had lain dead in the street. The body was gone, but the pool of blood remained. Dropping to his knees Forge was lapping the congealed mass from the ground before his brain processed what he was doing._

_Repulsed and terrified he shoved away from the ground and to his feet. At once he doubled over, his guts on fire as if someone had fired a musket shot from inside him. His head spun. Staggering, he got to an alleyway and dropped to the ground, and lay huddled there in a tight ball. Every sensation was on overload. Over and over his body seized up on him, expelling the contents of his stomach and continuing when there was no more to bring up. The pain turned his head inside out with an intensity so powerful it blinded him then drove him back to unconsciousness._

"You drank dead man's blood?" Sam slurred his words ever so slightly. Dean had fed him two more shots of Forge's whiskey while Forge talked. "Ya s'ouldn't do that."

"Now he tells me." Forge waved one hand at Sam. "Where were you two back then when I needed that advice?"

Dean smiled and pushed gently against Sam's good shoulder, getting him to slide further down on the couch. He took a few steps toward Forge to take the blanket Forge retrieved from a closet in the hallway going to the bedroom. Returning to the couch, he sat again next to Sam, spreading the blanket over him.

Valkyrie hopped up and settled on Sam's legs. When he started to shoo her onto the floor Forge waved him off, "Naw, she's okay up there. I don't mind."

"What happened then?" Dean asked.

"When I came to I found out I'd been listed as one of the casualties of what would become known as the Boston Massacre. I couldn't go home. I'd never heard of a vampire, and it was about fifty or sixty years before I found out what happened to me, what I'd become. I took off, lived off the land for a long time, nothing more than an animal sometimes. I kept heading west to stay away from people. Eventually I learned I could hunt and eat animals, drink their blood. Not dogs though, I've had dogs, couldn't do that to one of them. I stuck to wild animals or ones raised for food, cattle, sheep, that sort of thing. I never even wanted to touch human blood after that. I got jobs where I could easily get access to animal blood. I mostly stuck to various forms of law enforcement, but I've done the odd stint in slaughtering houses, ranches, an airfield, few railways." He blew out a quick laugh, "Heck I even worked for a frontier newspaper for a while. I learned control, but not right away. I was born in 1739."

Dean shook his head and looked down at his brother. Even from across the room Forge saw the care and concern in the man's eyes. Sighing, Dean grinned at Sam. "The werewolf has rabies, the local law is a damn vampire, ya know, Sammy, it's a sad, sad day when the most normal things in our lives are us."

Sam chuckled softly, his eyes drifting shut and opening slowly.

Wandering over to the shelves Dean looked over the collection of books and movies. Forge heard him name some off under his breath, "Bram Stoker, Stephen King, Hamilton, dude," Dean turned and arched one eyebrow, "seriously, Stephanie Meyers?"

Forge shrugged, "I like good comedies, what can I say? Anne Rice got it pretty right."

"Oh, and Buffy, man Sammy loved Buffy. That Angel dude was kick-_ass_!"

"Was you not me." Sam mumbled from the couch.

Dean snorted and continued, suddenly a huge grin split his face, "You've _got_ to be kidding, Lesbian Vampire Killers: Hell Yeah!"

"Dean!"

Forge smiled at Sam's embarrassment.

"No, Sam, look," snatching the movie from the shelf, Dean went back to the couch and stuck it under Sam's nose, "for real."

Shaking his head, rolling to his side and pulling the blanket up further Sam muttered, "You two deserve one another."

Motioning to Sam, Forge appealed to Dean. "Let him get some rest. We can try to find any other links between the victims and see if Belle had a family."

Dean looked over at his brother. Sam and Valkyrie were asleep on the couch. Nodding, Dean crossed the room to the computer in a corner of the dining room. "No tricks." He held his pistol up.

"No tricks. I just want to stop that monster." Forge pulled an extra chair over for Dean. The other man perched more than sat on the chair, tension radiating off him. Forge heard how his heart beat faster than normal.

Forge couldn't blame him. Dean had to be wondering when Forge would decide he, Sam and the dog were better as lunch than as houseguests. He was amazed at the level of trust between the brothers. He'd seen a glimpse of it while Dean searched out Sam and then freed him from the McCreedy brothers. Now however, it was driven home and in a powerful way just how much faith they had in one another that Sam could sleep in the same room with a vampire. Frightened people didn't sleep well, yet Sam seemed to be resting deeply. Forge understood Sam knew he was safe here, not because Forge told them he had no intention of harming a person, but because Sam trusted his brother to keep him safe and protect him while he slept. It made Forge lonely in a way he hadn't felt in decades.

"We need to find out if there is anywhere else Belle might go. I'm not sure he'll go back to that house, especially if he's got any other place he'd feel safe."

Forge nodded. "Okay, we start with county land records then."

When a cold nose poked his arm, Forge glanced down at the dog wagging her tail at him. Dean watched intently as Forge petted the dog, but kept his silence. Maybe Dean would never trust him, or be his friend, but at the very least Forge sensed Dean didn't mistrust him.

"Damn dog likes everybody," Dean grumbled, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile. He turned back to the computer and the task of catching a rabid werewolf.


	9. Chapter 8

_As always many, many thanks to everyone kind enough to read. My beta, Cookie6 had to work extra hard on this one, so extra thanks (and treats) to her!_

* * *

Sam cracked one eye open. He'd slept a while. The room was darker and long shadows crawled across from the windows. The only light came from one far corner of the dining room.

His entire left side was a cacophony of sharp stabs and constant dull aching. He was sure Dean would want him to do something sensible and reasonable like stay out of the woods and away from the werewolf hunt.

Dean could just stick that idea as high up as possible where the sun didn't shine. No way was Sam even going to think about leaving Dean to do this on his own.

Shifting around to prop on his right arm, Sam moved his legs cautiously for a few seconds before realizing Valkyrie's weight wasn't across his calves. Scrubbing one hand over his face, Sam pushed himself up until he was almost sitting and blinked at the sight in front of him.

Forge sat on a chair in front of a desk. Dean sat on a chair beside him. The computer between them was on but neither man was paying attention to it. Valkyrie sat on the floor between them, sitting up in her _begging-for-food-sit-pretty-pose_. Forge plucked something from a bag resting on his knee and dropped it into Valkyrie's mouth.

"I guess I should have asked you guys if these were okay to give her before I bought a dozen packages." He smiled after Valkyrie when she took the short, thick, brown treat and trotted away, curled on the floor and proceeded to munch on it happily.

Sam blinked again. Dean—_hunter_—and Forge—_vampire_—were sitting side by side feeding a dog—_okay granted she was cute, but not bring world peace cute_—treats and getting her to sit up. Sam was swearing off booze for good this time. He was obviously hallucinating.

His movements immediately tugged Dean's gaze to him. A warm, fond smile spread over Dean's face, "Hey, kiddo, how you feeling?"

"Like I got trashed by a werewolf." He suppressed a groan as abused muscles were stretched when he tried sitting up completely. For distraction he let his eyes flit around the room before coming back to rest on Dean.

"I didn't turn him or anything while you were napping." Forge said.

Sam stopped mid-push, partially from Forge's statement and partially because he couldn't move very well. The sharp jabs turned to shooting, stabbing pain and the dull aches became harsh enough his vision clouded for a few seconds. He forced the bile slithering up his throat back down. "I know." He stared at Forge, and smiled when the man cocked his head to one side. "None of your furniture is broken."

Forge looked around the apartment and shrugged one shoulder. Dean grinned like he'd won something.

Crossing the room Dean casually took Sam's good arm and lifted him so he could sit straight and lean back against the couch. Sam silently thanked whatever it was that allowed them to know what the other needed so easily and efficiently. He gave Dean a small, grateful smile and relaxed fully when Dean settled on the arm of the couch.

"We found other property Belle owned, a small farm, just outside of town. There was at least a cousin living with him. Well, the house and the farm are in both their names." As Dean talked he reached out and peeled some of the bandaging back to inspect Sam's wounds. Sam glanced down at the angry, red gashes then looked away, swallowing thickly. When Dean replaced the dressings he patted Sam's shoulder a few times, apparently satisfied Sam wasn't bleeding out or otherwise suffering anything potentially fatal from the werewolf attack.

"We need to check that out then." Sam looked up at his brother, not quite ready to tackle standing for another minute or two.

"Yeah, about that, Sammy, maybe this isn't a good idea." Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean kept his focus on his own feet, not Sam's face.

A quick glance out the window and Sam knew Dean was right. "We should probably wait till morning, huh?" Sam was all for that idea, sure he'd feel better and be moving with more ease by then.

"No, I meant…I think you…damn," Dean sighed heavily. "Sammy, you should stay here."

Sam had been expecting this. "So, you're just gonna go out there and track down a werewolf—_alone_—and leave me here with _the vampire_? All alone? I'm pretty cut up, doubt I can fight him off." He kept his voice even, going for a bored, deadpan tone. He wasn't sure he pulled it off completely considering a part of him really felt what he expressed out loud.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "No, the vampire is coming with me." Maybe Dean wasn't totally convinced of Sam's feelings, but his expression read he wasn't taking chances.

"The vampire has a name." Forge reminded them and fed Valkyrie another treat.

"Oh, okay, that makes all the difference. So, let me get this straight. I get attacked…twice…by the same werewolf and you and the vamp—Forge are going to go to some farm in the backwoods of South Dakota and leaving me here—_alone_. Yeah, that works 'cause I can fight off the werewolf much easier than I can the va—Forge." Sam carefully shrugged his right shoulder. "I'll just steal a car and meet you there. And if you think clearing the history on Forge's computer will stop me, think again. I can find the same information you did." Sam let a smug grin spread over his face, "probably more."

Dean sighed, rubbed his forehead and looked at Sam. Glared at him. Sam glared right back.

Sam was sure Dean was going to accuse of him of being stubborn and selfish any minute but this had nothing to do with the fact Sam had spent nearly the last year having Dean within his sight. Even hunting they barely split up much anymore, not unless they were in contact via phone. The most difficult steps Sam had taken were allowing Dean to leave him alone sometimes. It'd been difficult for them both, but it was Sam's issue, not wanting to be alone. Sam was the one who sought to keep Dean in sight for so long. No, Sam convinced himself those issues weren't at play at all.

What this had everything to do with was Dean going after that monster on his own, and possibly not coming back. Dean got careless when Sam wasn't around and Sam wasn't above using himself and his brother's never ending need to protect Sam to keep Dean in one piece and breathing.

"Sam," Dean drew his name out. "You're oozing blood and that thing can smell you. Wandering around its home is just plain stupid and foolhardy and asking for it. We should go back to Haven, Carter is there and you could use some stitches."

"You can stitch me up just fine, not like you haven't put most of my stitches in up until now."

"Yeah, maybe, but if there's a real doctor, let him do it." Sam could see Dean's patience with this was wearing thin.

"Guys." Forge appeared right in front of them. Sam sucked in a quick breath, having neither seen nor heard Forge move. He looked up at Forge then at Dean who frowned and sighed again. Forge was no longer hiding his vampireness and Sam wasn't the only one feeling the weirdness of having someone around capable of moving so quickly and so silently. He held out a sweater and denim coat to Sam. Forge set the clothes beside Sam. "This creature uses scent mostly, right?"

Dean nodded, though Sam saw by his expression he was as confused as Sam at this point. Looking less than pleased he stood up, leaning to one side slightly so he was more between Sam and Forge. "Yeah." His shoulders squared making him look even broader than he was, his weight settled in his heels and Sam saw in an instant how Dean went from being calm to something feral and vicious projecting subtle aggression.

"So, wear some of my clothes when we leave here and maybe that'll cover the smell of your blood enough." Forge looked from one to the other. His eyes slid up and down Dean a split second longer than they had Sam. Shuffling his feet he leaned away from them and put a few more inches between them and himself. Dean's personality shift wasn't lost on Forge, for whatever reason. "It didn't seem to like me much."

Snorting, Dean waved one hand at Sam in a _hurry up_ motion. "We may as well try to find out if this will work, but that doesn't mean I have to _like_ any of this."

Sam pulled the sweater on and draped the jacket across his knees.

"Can you smell his blood?" Dean wasn't subtle at all when he stepped closer, making sure he was constantly positioned between Sam and Forge, though the suspicious looks he aimed at Forge were scaling back. Sam pressed his lips to a fine line to keep from smiling when after a few slower than normal breaths Dean was back to regular old Dean.

Sam's heart sank when Forge nodded and Dean tensed for a few seconds.

The both of them, Sam decided, might just have some kind of nervous breakdown trying to decide if Forge was a threat or not. One minute he was a regular guy, the next they were sharply reminded he was a vampire, a supernatural creature they didn't fully understand or comprehend. Neither of them had any way of knowing if what they saw was Forge's true nature or some rouse. Sam was constantly wondering when Forge might show a more typical vampire side, and he knew the same things were flashing in big neon letters inside Dean's head. It was starting to wear on Sam's nerves, not knowing for sure. If he felt that way he knew Dean had an inner war going on that was ten times worse than Sam's.

"But it's not as strong. I smell blood. I can't really differentiate whose is whose. I'm a vampire, not a bloodhound." He looked from Dean to Sam. "Look, why don't you guys just bunk here for the night. We're not going to go looking for that thing in the dark. Or go back to Haven and stay there. But honestly, is your motel room or your car that safe? According to you both this thing is much bolder than what it should be. I think it might come after you at the motel."

"He's got a point." Sam admitted.

"We should go to Haven, have Carter look at you."

Sam couldn't help feeling wary. Dean might be able to keep his face neutral, but his body language was a different story. "Don't think you can get Carter to slip me something and knock me out either."

"I wouldn't do that." Dean looked so offended Sam almost believed him.

Almost. "Right." Sam snorted and grinned at Dean, how he loved it when he guessed Dean's moves ahead of time.

Dean blew out a dramatic, long suffering noise that made Sam bite his lip to suppress a laugh. "Fine. I'll take the chicky out before it gets much darker, I'm sure she's got her doggy business to take care of and I'll get our stuff out of the car." Conveniently Dean was snapping on Valkyrie's harness and leash and not looking at Sam.

"If we're going back to Haven, we should leave now, it's between here and the second property." Forge pointed out.

Dean and Sam turned their eyes to him at the same time.

Forge shrugged. "I'm a vampire, I can smell things miles away and I have great hearing, you think a blindfold really kept me from knowing the way there? Oh, and let me tell you, all that rock-salt and God _knows_ what else they have stashed there? Yeah, preeety pungent."

"That must have given you fits, to wake up in Haven." Sam said.

Eyebrows shooting up Forge pulled a face, "That's sure one way to put it."

Dean muttered something under his breath completely unrecognizable and Sam was sure totally not fit for sharing with the public. He grinned when he caught a few bits and pieces, words like _stupid sarcastic undead_ and _smart ass little brother _mixed with something about how things might be different when they want Dean to stop the werewolf from taking off heads.

Maneuvering around to get his feet under him was a chore. Pushing off his right arm and away from the couch rocketed the pain to new levels. Eyes pinched shut and lips pressed tight he fought away the dizziness and how his stomach lurched and flipped. "I'm coming with you." He managed to shove the words through clenched teeth.

Looking up at Dean Sam raised his eyebrows silently hoping Dean would take a hint and give him some help.

Dean stepped away. "This is ridiculous. You can wait here. I'll be back in twenty minutes." He turned and leveled a look at Forge that practically tethered the man to him. Dean clearly had no intention of leaving him with Sam.

Sam pretended not to notice.

Heaving out a sigh that deflated him farther down against the couch, Sam put on his best wounded little brother face. "You gonna _leave_ _me_ here with _him_? _Alone_?" Waving his right hand along his left side Sam reminded his brother, "_Hurt_."

"You're embarrassing, you know that?" Dean was shaking his head, but he moved forward, leaned down and slipped one arm around Sam's waist, hoisting him up.

Sam puffed out a breath and from of the corner of his eye caught Forge chuckling hard enough his shoulders bounced. When he saw Sam watching him he balled one hand and pressed it to his mouth, at the same time cleared his throat. The man was obviously completely aware of the rouse Sam was putting up and why Dean was trying so hard to leave the apartment by himself. Sam sighed and shifted his weight against Dean's side. "We'll be back in ten." He jerked on Sam's side hard enough Sam sucked in a harsh breath and hit Dean's shoulder with his good hand. "What?" Dean steered Sam out the front door. "Pain in my ass." He grumbled and handed Valkyrie's leash over to Sam.

Dean didn't release him until they were in the elevator and on the way down. Sam leaned back against the wall, relieved no one else was riding with them. He coughed into one hand in hopes of hiding the wince and moan from the pressure against his back. Dean quirked an eyebrow at him and pinned him in place with a stare so intense Sam had to work not to squirm.

"You haven't been like this in months, Sam."

Sam caught the worry in his brother's voice. "I haven't been hurt like this in a long time." He said quietly.

It was the raw truth too. His primary concern was Dean going off on his own to deal with a rabid werewolf. He'd be growing a longer nose, however, if he tried convincing either of them his secondary concern wasn't being left behind or left alone. The sense of security Dean gave him was too strong, even if the dependency wasn't exactly healthy.

Dean's face softened, more concern sparked his eyes. He nodded. "Okay, Sam. Guess we have more than one thing to talk about later."

Not a conversation Sam particularly wanted to have, but as long as Dean was there to talk back to him, he'd deal. When the elevator dinged, signaling they'd arrived on the ground floor, Sam forced another groan away as he straightened. Dean's fingers curled around his elbow in a grip firm enough Sam could lean some of his weight against it and get relief to his damaged side while he righted himself. Standing quietly, waiting patiently while Sam got his footing, Dean didn't let go until Sam drew in a deep breath and nodded.

He walked in silence beside Dean, glancing up and down the street. Even though they were inside the city and in daylight Sam wasn't so sure they were safe, and he could tell by how Dean scanned the area he felt the same. Besides explaining Sam's injuries could be tricky at best. It was far easier to avoid other people as well as the werewolf. Knowing his brother kept an ever watchful eye out for not only the supernatural but the mundane threats put Sam at ease.

They found a patch of grass along the side of the building. Dean didn't let Valkyrie off her leash as he normally did, but took it from Sam's hand and followed her as she zigzagged along, nose to the ground, sniffing out her perfect spot.

Later came faster than Sam expected. Somehow Sam's issues never got put off like Dean's did. "What's the matter, Sammy? You don't trust me to handle this thing?"

Shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets Sam sighed. "Of course I do. That's not the point."

"What is the point then?"

Sam had to smile when Dean extracted a small bag from his jacket pocket and scooped what Valkyrie left off the ground, tied the bag and chucked it into a nearby garbage can. They'd both gone from carrying weapons to weapons and doggy bags. Walking to the car, Dean unlocked the door and leaned inside.

"You're pissed because it hurt me. You were right there in front of me, and it got to me, twice. And you're _pissed_ off."

Jerking out and away from the car, Dean whirled around. "Ya think?" He shoved the duffel he held to the ground. When he straightened his fists were bunched tight. His face was a war between anger and guilt. His breathing was harsh.

"It wasn't your fault. I don't think it was your fault."

Dean puffed a breath, choked some comment back down his throat and turned away abruptly, this time heading to the trunk, extracting Sam's laptop and a few extras for the weapon duffel. "You'd never think it was my fault." He grumbled.

Sam leaned against the car and glanced sideways at Dean. "It wasn't your fault," he repeated, stronger and with more conviction this time. "I trust you with my life, I always have and I always will. But what I don't trust you with is _your_ life. The only person I trust with your life is _me_."

Standing straight, Dean faced him completely, duffels dangled off his hands, arms hanging at his sides. The look Dean wore was pure surprise. When he said nothing, just stood there staring at him, Sam continued.

Shrugging just his right shoulder, Sam looked out at the street again before pulling his eyes back to Dean. "What you don't seem to get that _I_ get and have always gotten is when I'm not around you get…" Sam groped for the right words, "I don't know, you just don't care about yourself, not as much anyway. It's not like I think you want to die or anything but you get angry and careless. If I'm not there you act like you don't care about what happens to you. It's like I have to be sure to be between you and whatever is trying to kill you before you even _notice_ something wants to kill you. You protect everything and everyone, especially me, but not yourself. So if putting myself out there with a sick werewolf on my trail keeps you alive, I'm going to do it whether you like it or not."

Being alone for a few hours wasn't exactly Sam's true fear and he'd just admitted as much to Dean.

Dean stood staring at him for a minute. He bent slowly without taking his eyes off Sam and picked up the bag on the ground. "Just be sure you don't actually _get_ _between_ me and that werewolf." The overprotective tiger that seemed forever lurking just beneath Dean's cool exterior rumbled to the surface long enough to color Dean's expression then it sunk back down, waiting until it was needed Sam was sure.

Sam pushed off the car, but said nothing.

They didn't say anything else the entire way back up to Forge's apartment. Twice Sam tried to relieve Dean of one or two of the duffels he carried, but he got a stern look both times and the duffels were yanked out of reach for his efforts. He knew Dean wasn't angry with him, he was angry with the werewolf and that Sam had been hurt so badly.

Thankfully Dean wasn't too anxious to get to Haven and Sam offered him no argument. He hurt and sitting in the car for the time it would take to get there wasn't something Sam looked forward to. Forge made sense when he suggested staying put for the night. The werewolf might attack during the day, but it was easier to track and fight than during the night. Realistically Sam knew he needed some more recoup time. If they had to face this thing again today Sam seriously doubted his ability to hold his own, he'd be a liability in a fight right now, not an asset.

Keeping his concerns to himself, though he knew Dean probably made the same assessment, Sam pulled out his laptop and leaned against the back of the couch while it booted up. His eyes met Dean's when the smells wafting from the kitchen had them both looking up at the same time. Sam's lips twitched to a slow, lazy smile when Dean's stomach growled.

Dean shrugged.

Forge stood in the kitchen doorway looking from one to the other a few. "I could eat. You guys hungry?"

"Ye-yeah." Sam's stomach grumbled in some sort of weird ritual, answering Dean's. "I am." His eyes slide to Dean's. "Thanks."

"Well, don't thank me yet, you haven't eaten and survived my food. Hopefully ambulances and stomach pumps won't be involved." He shrugged and grinned. "Kidding. It was a joke."

"Uh-huh." Dean removed Valkyrie's harness, but Sam saw how he never really let Forge out of his sights. He wondered if Forge noticed even if Dean wasn't obvious about it. Sam decided he probably did.

"Okay, so don't take this the wrong way, but I have to get a decent meal, cause," Forge waved two fingers at Sam, "boy, you smell good and I can only take so much."

Sam froze, not one hundred percent sure Forge was kidding and more than slightly freaked out. A _man—vampire—_just told him he smelled good. Dean's arm landing solidly on his shoulder and shoving him back startled Sam back to reality. Caught completely off guard he stumbled over his feet and made a grab at the couch to keep from landing on his ass.

Dean stuttered out a sharp breath and pushed in front of Sam, squarely between Forge and Sam. Normally Sam would have taken some exception to Dean's arm over his chest, shoving him behind him and holding Sam there with fingers wound tightly around Sam's good arm. Right now, however, Sam was too busy being freaked over Forge saying he smelled good, and probably like dinner. Sam wondered who was more freaked, he or Dean.

Forge rolled his eyes, shrugged and turned back to the kitchen. "You guys need to lighten up. How ya' like your steaks? They had a great sale last week, buy one get one. I love that."

"Well done." Sam and Dean said together.

Forge popped his head back out the doorway, "You guys coming? This food is getting cold." He carried plates and food from the small kitchen to the dining room, set them down and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Sam looked at Dean who shrugged and nodded. When he tried wiggling his arm loose Dean's fingers clamped down with enough force it hurt.

Dean growled out a warning, "Sam."

More understanding took hold in Sam's head, one idea wormed around another each vying for grasp of what Sam needed to do to get Dean through his issues. After they ate he decided he'd take a closer look at Dean's research from the weeks immediately following Sam's kidnap. First things first, however, Sam was hungry and if Forge's food tasted half as good as it smelled Sam figured it was worth eating.

They sat around the table, Sam as far from Forge as possible in the space with Dean between them. If Forge noticed how Dean scooted his chair closer to Sam's he never let on. While they'd been out with the dog Forge had baked some rolls, cooked up some steaks and tossed a salad. When Forge stepped back into the kitchen Sam peered closely at the food, then stretched so he could see around Dean and into the kitchen.

Dean's head swiveled in the same direction, then back to meet Sam's eyes. They both shrugged. Forge was taking small, plastic packages from the freezer.

He ambled back to the table, grinning at them as he tossed three bags down. "Made my steak rare." Opening the first of the bags, Forge sliced off a chunk and cut it into small pieces which he tosse over the salad he piled next to his steak. "I get these online. I know I've said it before, but the Internet is sometimes a beautiful place. You'd be amazed at the difference in taste, I like beef the best, but pork has a nice tang to it. Chicken blood is sort of bland." He held the bag out, aimed at Sam and Dean and raised his eyebrows.

"I don't like croutons. Neither does Sam." Dean's eyes were flat and his face completely neutral. Sam was probably the only person who would ever notice how his shoulders tensed ever so slightly, how his spine straightened, his chin lifted and the air of power Dean projected from every pour. It flowed out and cocooned Sam in a place so safe that even in the most dangerous situation Sam drew comfort and a huge boost to his own courage. People may never realize what Dean was doing, but they never failed to react to it.

Forge was no different.

He pulled his hand away and leaned back in his chair, shrugging. His eyes shifted from one to the other and again giving Dean a quick, appraising look. "Suit yourselves, but if you want to give them a try…"

"This is great." Dean smiled companionably and waved one hand at their steaks.

"It is." Sam agreed as he dug in. He really was hungry. "Thanks."

Once they'd finished Sam settled again on the couch. Dean propped his legs up with pillows and hounded Forge for extras to put under Sam's shoulders. Having slept a good part of the afternoon away Sam was pleased when Dean plunked down in a recliner and squirmed around before pulling a blanket over his shoulders. He let out a fake grunt when Valkyrie bounced onto his lap. Sam reasoned Dean must have been exhausted because he didn't even argue when Sam offered to stay awake first, keep watch while Dean got some sleep.

Forge was in his own room. He hadn't hurt either of them, hadn't threatened them, in fact the opposite. He'd helped them, given them a place to recover and a meal but the fact remained, he was a vampire. Sam was hurt enough he wasn't functioning at top performance. They weren't going to be so trusting both of them slept at the same time. They were not going to let their guard down.

Sam was happy for the hours of peace and quiet he'd have while Dean slept in a chair he'd pulled over so it was just a foot from the couch. Taking up his laptop, Sam went straight to the folder in his favorites Dean used to keep the research he'd done after Sam's kidnap. Dean had never kept the contents secret and shared more facts than Sam could name. The folder wasn't password protected even though Sam knew Dean was more than capable of hiding anything he didn't want Sam to see.

It made Sam smile, how Dean pretended to be very computer unsavvy. Sam might have surpassed him in computer skills, but it'd been Dean who'd taught him the basics. Sam knew Dean could keep the contents of this folder private, it'd been Dean who'd shown Sam how to do that so many years ago. So that being the case, the folder there and left accessible to both brothers, Sam felt no pangs of guilt opening it. The laptop was Sam's but Dean used it just as much and it was a rule between them, if they wanted something kept private, password protect it. The fact Dean would know Sam's passwords and visa versa didn't matter and wasn't the point. They each trusted the other enough to respect a request for privacy.

Sam took a few seconds to consider what it said that there were no folders needing passwords before he delved into the mounds of research Dean had done. He knew, or at least he hoped, to find the answers he needed for each of them. If Dean could do this for him Sam could certainly do it for Dean.


	10. Chapter 9

_Thanks everyone who is following my little story and many thanks to my great beta Cookie6...she keeps me from getting lazy and really makes me work!_

* * *

Dean turned the Impala down a long drive and decided he must be crazy. He was certainly gullible as hell to be doing this. Sam was definitely crazy. This entire freaking county must be possessed or something…_why does it have to be here_?...because the Belle farm was not even a mile from where the McCreedy home had stood. _Charming neighborhood_.

Returning to the McCreedy property, even getting close to it in those first days after the fire and taking Sam there had been one of Dean's most difficult tasks. It had done them both a world of good in the long run, but memory of Sam's face, how he'd been then seemed to always be hovering just under the surface in Dean's mind ready to ambush him.

_Sam's smile slid away as they rounded the final bend, a pile of smoldering wood, ash, twisted metal came into view. The remains of the house._

He'd hoped Sam hadn't realized how close they were, but one glance in the rearview mirror at Sam and his hopes were dashed.

_He slowed his pace, lagging behind. Dean slowed, matching his brother's, not wanting to push too hard. When he stopped completely Dean reached back, took Sam's elbow and gently urged him forward. _

The color leached from Sam's face as he stared out the window.

_Dean wondered if Sam honestly trusted him enough to do this, but in the end Dean's instincts had been right on. Hesitating only a few seconds, their eyes locking, Sam followed him to the spot a house had once been_.

Dean knew perfectly well his brother wasn't idly watching the trees fly by as he outwardly appeared to be. Adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, eyes sliding for a few beats to Forge, Dean sighed. Sam shifting around in the back seat drew his attention there for another few seconds. He knew Sam didn't like it back there, even if it probably was more comfortable for him. No way Dean was trusting Forge enough to put him behind them both, even if Sam hadn't been wounded. Sam squirmed and moved every few minutes, obviously trying to find a comfortable position and failing miserably. He'd refused to be left behind and short of tying him up, locking him up or knocking him out Dean saw no way to convince Sam to stay put somewhere the werewolf wouldn't find him.

They were all just freaking crazy.

He guided the car as close as possible to the first building, a barn. Behind it by a few hundred yards was a farm house. The structures were newer, more modern, probably not more than ten years old Dean guessed. Farther still, in back of the house and to the right, was an older building. It was a squat, one story building, and even from this distance Dean could see it was made of cement.

Cutting the engine, Dean glanced back at Sam before pushing out of the car. Forge was already out, one hand pressed against his forehead to shield his eyes from sun glare. He was twisting on his heels, scanning the area. He met Dean's eyes and pointed to the house, making a circle motion with his other hand. Dean nodded he understood. Forge was going to check out behind this building. They'd already agreed upon not going inside any of the buildings until they had more ammo. This was a preliminary check of the layout of the farm, nothing more.

Dean intended to stick to that plan and to make sure Sam did too.

Sam eased more slowly out of the car. Dean adjusted the windows for Valkyrie, taking longer than he needed too so he didn't appear to be waiting for Sam. Once straightened to his full height, Sam handed Dean's gun back to him. Dean nodded, at the same time taking in how Sam held his left arm close to his side, how it trembled ever so slightly.

"I hope Bobby has more bullets for us so we have more than one gun to use." Sam rolled his head and pulled Forge's jacket in closer.

"Yeah, me too." Dean agreed. Cold fingers coiled in his belly. If they ran into the werewolf here, now, Sam would have little chance of defending himself in his current condition. He took some small comfort in the fact Sam seemed willing and almost content to stick close for now.

He stepped away from the car, Sam a half pace behind him. The sun was still just breeching the horizon, though already bright. The air was clear and chilly. Every breath Dean exhaled came out in frosty puffs. Grass, frozen just enough to be crispy, crunched under his feet. He heard how it did the same under Sam's boots, and turned keen ears behind him, another way to keep track of his injured brother.

"You okay for this?" Dean asked over his shoulder.

Sam's finger gave him a sharp poke in his side, making him lurch forward and take an unsteady few steps. "Don't worry, 'm not wandering off anywhere alone anytime soon if that's what you're trying to say."

"Don't suppose I could convince you to—"

"No." Sam met Dean's searching gaze steadily.

They walked to the closest building, the barn, in silence. The crunch of frozen grass from their steps somehow eased Dean's mind and dispersed some of the tension. The odds of something sneaking up on them right now, here, were low.

Stopping at the barn door, Sam stepped around Dean, and let his right hand rest on the door latch. He shot a quick look at Dean, who nodded an okay.

Holding his gun out and low, Dean widened his stance. He stood dead center of the doorway. Sam would have to move to the side to pull the door open, so anything coming out would see him first, come at him first. He drew in a deep breath, held it for a beat and let it out slow.

Sam gripped the latch in his right hand, met Dean's eyes and jerked on the latch. He frowned at it when nothing happened, threw his weight back and yanked on it again. Nothing. Not even so much as a rattle. Huffing a frustrated noise, Sam backed up a step and _kicked_ at the door. Dean's smile and amusement at that little move faded almost instantly when Sam's face morphed from annoyed to pained.

"Ow!" Grabbing his leg behind his knee and hopping a few steps Sam did some deep breathing exercises before offering Dean a seriously pissed off look.

Relaxing his stance and his shoulders Dean couldn't help a low chuckle. "I don't think it's going to open, Sammy."

"Ya think?!" Sam snapped out, rubbing his calf with his good hand.

"Are you—?"

"Fine. I'm fine, Dean."

Dean shrugged, "Okay. Let's take a look at the back." He patted Sam's shoulder and steered him around the building.

The walk was uphill and they discovered the back of the barn was built into a manmade hillside. Centered and a few inches off the ground was a small door. Dean crouched down and tugged on the latch, the door slid open easily and he peered through the four foot square opening cautiously. The entrance opened not to the main part of the barn, but into the loft. Flashlight extracted from his jacket pocket, Dean moved the beam around the inside of the barn, making sure nothing was waiting just the other side of the doorway to take his head off. Leaning on one hand he crept forward far enough his head and shoulders were through the door.

Sam pushed in beside him, easing his head, then shoulders through the small opening, hissing when his damaged side dragged across the doorframe.

Dean felt the shiver run through his brother before Sam sucked in a breath then went still beside him. "What the…?" The words came out of Sam on a whispery exhale.

"Well," Dean shrugged, "That explains why the door wouldn't open."

"Yeah." Sam's voice was still breathy. Dean didn't have to guess why. The scene below and its implications shook Sam to the core. Dean too.

There was a concrete wall lining the inside of the barn wall. What had once likely been stalls were now cells of concrete with heavy barred doors. The only light getting through was from the entrance way they were taking up. Oil lamps hung on hooks at various points around the space. Dean figured that meant no electricity to this building. There was a section between the loft and the stalls reminding Dean of a moat. It had no water and dirt and debris covered the bottom.

Bones, toys, bits of flesh and tattered clothing in many shapes, sizes and colors littered the entire area.

The way Sam trembled beside him heaved Dean into overdrive. Cages, more flipping, freaking cages. Dean was sick of cages in their lives. He was sick of Sam having to relive being trapped, tortured and threatened. There wasn't much Dean could do about what happened in their past, but he fully intended to prevent more trauma.

"Out. Now." He shoved against the part of Sam closest to him, which was also where Sam was injured the most. Feeling how Sam hissed in air more than inhaling didn't stop him, or even slow him down much. Pushing Sam in front of him, Dean wiggled out of the small space.

Sam wheeled around and leaned back against the wall on one side of the entrance, Dean mirrored his actions on the other side. Seriously, they'd both been locked away in cages and too small spaces one too many times in the past year or so to do very well with this shit.

Reaching over and tapping against Sam's knee, Dean forced a chuckle. "Oh goody, how Hollywood. This is like some bad horror flick remake with a creepy cabin in the woods, werewolves lurking around, and the cheeky but loveable detective who is a freaking _vampire_."

He was happy when Sam smiled, nodded and dropped his head back against the barn wall letting his eyes slide shut.

"I'm loveable?" Forge asked, appearing next to Sam.

Dean jumped. "No!" he snarled out at the same time Sam did. Caught off guard he bit down to stop the smirk when Sam flinched away from Forge's voice with enough force Dean thought Sam would land in his lap. Leaning around Sam, his foot lashed out, hitting against Forge's shin with enough force to make him stumble back a step. "Quit that crap! I'm going to put a goddamn bell around your freaking neck!"

Forge rolled his eyes and crouched in front of the door, waving off Dean's offer of his flashlight. "I don't need that." Sucking in a breath, Forge backed out fast and sat on the ground facing the brothers. "That's disturbing."

"Yeah." Dean agreed. He shoved away from the ground then offered Sam a hand he was more pleased than he should have been when Sam took it to pull himself up on.

"It's bringing its victims back here?" Sam motioned to the barn.

"Do you think the…uh…remains we found at the house in town were the cousin?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm betting it was the werewolf who attacked Belle. They tend to hang around an area, might even have been someone he knew. I'm not convinced one werewolf could do that to another one. It was clearly in change mode when it was—" Sam waved his good hand in front of him, obviously looking for the right words, "—attacked. It only takes a few minutes, but while it happens a werewolf is pretty much defenseless. Still to do that kind of damage, that fast," Sam's eyes skittered to Dean's then he pulled them away to scan the countryside, "I think more than one."

"Working together?" Forge asked.

Pulling in a deep breath, Dean nodded. "Yeah, working together, so someone Belle was already comfortable with, someone he trusted. We need to track down his cousin, though I'm guessing we won't be able to." He tapped Sam's chest. "Let's check out that last building. We'll head to Haven, get you fixed up better and hopefully restock the ammo."

Sam brushed off his jeans and nodded. They waited while Forge lumbered to his feet and they walked together to the final, smaller building, behind the house. They'd gotten no more than a few yards from it when the sound of scratching and whimpering reached Dean's ears. He'd noticed Forge quieted and squinted at the smaller building when they'd barely gotten around the house. Eyes shifting to Sam for an instant and one quick, tight nod from Sam and Dean knew his brother heard it as well.

Forge pulled out his gun as soon as they were near the building corner. There was no obvious door, so they split up. Dean and Sam stalked quietly one way, Dean's gun out and ready, Forge circled around from the other direction.

There were long windows running along the ground, but they were the glass block type and Dean couldn't see through them. The back of the building had one door which was partially boarded over.

"Okay, boys, my turn." Forge stepped past them and peered through the mud splattered glass. "Huh." He grunted and shouldered the door open far enough to lean through.

"How come he doesn't get the one backed by concrete?" Sam muttered.

Dean rolled his eyes and tapped Forge's shoulder. "See anything?"

"Yeah. Some steps and another door. This is one creepy ass farm."

They heard his feet hit creaky wooden steps as Forge moved into the space, moving down to look through the next door. "It's bolted or something." He reappeared a few seconds later, scratched the back of his neck and pulled a face. "Uh, do these things have litters? That, uh, look like actual dogs? Big paws, cute, pointy ears?"

Dean's mouth dropped open. Sam shook his head side to side. Forge waved helplessly at the building.

"Wait." Forge's warning came a few seconds too late.

Taking the steps two at a time Dean leaned down to look through the small window in the second door. He sucked in a harsh breath, jumping when Sam's hand landed on his shoulder and Sam leaned in to see for himself. He felt Sam stiffen and pull back, stumbling when he got to the steps.

"Shit. _Shit_." Sam exhaled, sitting down hard on the steps.

"I hate this crap." Dean ground out. "We have to do something."

On the other side of the door were three steps going down to an open room. Inside were the remains of a large dog and what was left of a litter of puppies. All but one was dead. One puppy, whimpering as it staggered forward and scratched weakly at the closest step.

Crossing both arms over his chest, chin jutting out Sam snapped, "I am _not_ shooting a puppy."

Dean glanced past Sam to Forge who put both hands in the air and stepped away. Groaning Dean rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Crap." Falling backwards onto his butt, he jerked his knees to his chest and kicked against the door. The old wood splintered, a section large enough to get his arms and shoulders through opened up.

Flopping onto his stomach, Dean glanced back at Sam. "Sit on my legs."

Sam frowned for a minute before realization spread over his face and he grinned. Leaning over Dean's calves Sam asked, "What if it's infected?"

Dean snorted, cocked on eyebrow and turned away from Sam and stretched his arms through the ruined door, inching forward as far as possible. "C'mere. C'mon."

The puppy toddled at him, making it as far as the lowest step before its legs gave out and it dropped to the ground. Dean moved forward far enough to grab the small dog by the scruff of the neck and lift. It squealed and thrashed. "Oh no, don't bite me." Dean's fingers clamped down tight. "Pull me out, Sam."

Sam wound his good arm around Dean's legs and eased him back far enough that Dean could get his free hand under him and push away from the door.

Swiveling around, Dean plunked the puppy onto the floor between his feet. He looked from Sam to Forge.

"So, uh, how do we know it wasn't bitten?" Forge asked. He knelt beside Dean, reached out cautiously and rubbed the puppy's ears. "He's going to be huge." A pudgy face that promised to grow to a longer snout turned to Forge and gazed at him with deep, liquid brown eyes. He was predominantly black with mask markings in gray on his face. A splash of gray on his chest and gray toes were the only other spots on his body lighter in color.

"I think if he was bitten he'd be dead." Sam said quietly. "And he wouldn't be this weak."

Dean shifted his weight so his back was to the door. "There're other animal carcasses down there."

"Food stocks?" Sam's eyes met his then skittered for a few seconds to the door before resting on the puppy.

Nodding, Dean clambered to his feet. Handing the puppy off to Forge, he held out a hand to Sam and hoisted him up. "Come on, you need to get those wounds taken care of. No more side trips, we're going to Carter, now." He gave Sam's shoulder a shove, getting him moving up the steps.

Once back in the Impala Forge settled in the passenger seat with the puppy in his lap. Dean took a good look around the area while Sam and Forge watched, grinning, as Valkyrie sniffed the puppy one end to the other, finally licking and pawing at the little guy playfully.

"I think that settles it." Sam leaned over the seat. "How come she wasn't ever bothered by you? She's sensed spirits, even demons."

Forge shrugged. "Maybe because I like dogs, not afraid of them. Maybe because I'm different." His hand fell on the shoulders of the fuzzy bundle in his lap. "Think that doctor can help him?"

Sam looked over at Dean, swallowing roughly, looking all of six.

"I don't know." Dean sighed, wishing he'd told Bobby to find someone else to help hunt werewolves.

* * *

Sam wasn't surprised when a mile from Haven Dean pulled the car off the road, cut the engine and handed Forge a rag to blindfold himself. He was even less surprised by Forge's complaints.

"I already told you both I knew how to get here even though I was blindfolded before. I mean come _on_, really?"

Dean huffed an impatient sigh. "Dude, you don't think they won't think it's odd if we don't do this? Hell, they've probably known we were on the way for a half hour or so and the ruse might already be blown. I'm not so sure telling them your little secret is the best idea, so let's just play along for now."

Sam was inclined to agree with Dean. Bobby and others at Haven might not have had much direct experience with werewolves, but they all had plenty with vampires. There was no reason to needlessly risk Forge's life.

"You know," Sam leaned over the seat and whispered in Forge's ear after listening to three minutes of muttering from the man, "We may not be vampires, but we can hear you."

Dean barked a laugh.

Forge waved one hand back at Sam's face, fingers brushing Sam's nose making him scrunch his eyes shut and pull away. "I know."

"He knows." Dean repeated, turning his head far enough to catch Sam's eye.

Parking the Impala near Carter's house, Dean lumbered from the car and stretched. He took the puppy from Forge and Valkyrie's leash from Sam grumbling something about not being a doggy sitter. When Sam tried to take the puppy his hand was brushed away and he was given a stern look. "Don't want you aggravating those wounds." Dean said gruffly.

Sam smile and nodded, falling into step beside his brother.

Forge jerked the blindfold off, dropped it on the car seat and sprinted after them.

Carter was just crossing to his house from another of the buildings and waved. "Hey, don't you guys ever call first?" He grinned at them, opening the door. "What happened to you? What is that?" Carter's gaze went from Sam to the fuzzy bundle in Dean's arms.

"I…uh…could maybe use some stitches." Sam mumbled, trailing behind Carter, Forge and his brother into the main room.

Carter crossed quickly and leaned against a chair, trying to casually move it so it blocked the fire burning in the fireplace. Sam caught how Dean's expression changed, flitting through concern, gratitude and admiration in the span of a few seconds. He could only imagine what Carter had been told to prompt the man to hide his fireplace. Dean always insisted on placing himself between Sam and any fire and admitted or not Sam was always relieved. That someone else was doing the same, not pushing at Sam to _get over_ his fear of fire was a kindness beyond expression to Sam. Dean's face told him his brother felt the same.

"It's okay, you don't have to do that." Sam smiled at him, grateful for the man's efforts.

Dean ambled over and sat in the chair. "Sam got tore up by the werewolf. I told him he shouldn't be wandering around chasing that thing, but he's too damn stubborn to listen to me."

"That's not a baby werewolf?" Carter stepped away from Dean and the puppy. He motioned to Sam to get his jacket off and slid Sam's shirts up for a better look. Lips pressing into a line, he straightened and looked from one to the other. "Heck of a lot of contusions, and mostly punctures, don't want to suture those, but there're a few slices we should stitch up. When did this happen?"

"Yesterday. We waited till it was light before coming here." Sam explained.

Dean rolled his eyes and held the puppy up. "No, they don't have litters. Sheesh you people watch too much TV."

Leaning closer to Carter, Sam grinned, "So says the guy who can quote entire movies word for word."

"Movies are _different_." Dean stood up and crossed the room, stopping to place a hand on Sam's back. "Think you can do anything for either of them?"

"Him," Carter pointed to Sam, "Yes." His finger swerved at the puppy. "Him I'm not so sure, but we can look."

Once beyond the house part and to the clinic part, Sam levered himself onto the exam table Carter pointed to. Forge sat quietly in a chair in the corner and Dean hovered somewhere near the end of the exam table.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault." Carter gathered supplies from a cupboard along the wall opposite the exam table. Sam didn't miss how Carter's gaze shifted between Dean, Sam and his own hands.

Sam couldn't help remembering the last time poor Carter treated him and wondered if Carter was thinking the same thing. Dean was forever going to be _Dean_ and that meant he'd hover, Sam was used to it. Looking at his brother from an outsider's point of view Sam realized how scary Dean must appear, especially when his overprotective tiger lumbered so close to his surface.

"Dude, no offense, but I'm forty years younger, a half a foot taller and probably seventy pounds heavier than you. No way you could even begin to do this to me. So not your fault."

Dean actually smiled. The set of Carter's shoulders relaxed. It's was one of Sam's deepest secrets, but he prided himself in bringing out Dean's teddy bear when he needed to. Everyone reacted to Dean's body language and getting Carter and Dean to lighten up and let both their reactions to the last time Carter patched up Sam fade away. Long ago and far away Sam learned Dean mostly reacted to Sam's fears. Sam wasn't afraid of Carter, so Dean had no reason to become defensive.

Sam stripped to the waist and Carter removed the dressings. He stopped with some gauze he'd dipped in what Sam took to be antiseptic poised over Sam's side, glancing up and meeting Dean's gaze. When Dean stood there, impassive and seemingly calm and harmless Carter began dabbing at Sam's wounds.

"You did a good job on these." Carter was bent to the side, applying fresh dressings to Sam's side, but Sam knew he was addressing Dean.

"Done it once or twice before." Dean's eyes never wavered from Carter's hands. Sam had to give the man credit, he might still be apprehensive around Dean, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from caring for Sam's wounds.

"You take anything?"

"Ibuprofen and a few shots of Johnny Walker."

Carter snorted, tapping Sam's good shoulder. "That stuff only works when you pour it over the wound, not from the inside."

Sam shrugged carefully. "Depends on your idea of working."

That made Carter laugh in earnest. "Okay, no stitches, but I'm going to put a different dressing and some butterfly strips on these." He turned away long enough to grab a bottle from a nearby shelf. Handing it to Sam, he pointed to Sam's injuries, "Start painting this on everywhere." Attention fully on Dean in the next second Carter stood with hands on hips, sighed and jerked his chin at the puppy. "Okay, now this one."

Dean set the puppy on the exam table next to Sam. "Think you can fix him?"

"I don't know." Carter leaned down, looking at the puppy. He pulled up on his fur. "He's dehydrated."

"Can we try?" Sam's voice sounded small even to his ears.

Carter retrieved an IV pole and a bag of fluids from a corner of the room. He held up held up the packaged IV line and looked from the puppy to the bag of fluids. "I think he needs an IV. Definitely needs some food." He looked up helplessly. "But no clue how to do this. I've never even had a dog."

"Oh for chrissake." Forge hopped off the chair and crossed the room. "I have. Lots of them. You put the needle under the skin, here," grasping the puppy's scruff in one hand he gave a gentle shake. "And we need something smelly and tasty that's meat. Got any baby food?"

Carter blinked at him. "I...uh…not…do I look like I need baby food?"

Dean held up one finger, pulled his phone out and placed a call. "Bobby, hey, me, Dean. Yeah, we're good. At Haven, Sammy got scratched up by the wolf. No, he's okay, just needs some patching up. Got more silver bullets for us? Yeah, that's great. Uh, one other thing? Can you bring us some baby food, maybe a dozen jars, something meaty?"

Sam heard Bobby's squawk from where he sat. Grinning he set the bottle of liquid to the side and waited for Carter to finish dressing his wounds. Dean yanked the phone away from his ear and snapped it closed. He gave Sam an annoyed look, "Are we the only ones who know werewolves don't have babies?"

"I guess." Sam muttered.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean grinned at him. "Bobby said he'd be here in an hour or so. He got us some more ammo too."

"I'm going to see what more I can dig up on Belle's cousin and anyone else we might need to check out." Sam eased off the exam table and headed down the hall to the main room and his laptop. He booted it up and opened the folders Dean had stored months ago when he'd begun his mission to help Sam recover from his kidnap along with a search browser.

Sam had research to do, for their hunt and more importantly for his brother.


	11. Chapter 10

Sam sat staring at the mountain of virtual information Dean had collected during the last year. Not only had he ferreted out specific aids and techniques to help Sam recover from his kidnap, Dean had spent what must have been hours cataloging their different personality traits and how each one of them would emotionally heal from this sort of trauma.

All of Sam's speeches about how Dean had been just as much a victim hadn't fallen on the deaf ears Sam first thought. Dean had done such a good job of laying it all out the only thing Sam needed to read through was the notes, plans and schedules Dean created. Sam knew Dean was having his own post traumatic issues, flashbacks and night terrors, what Sam didn't know was what he could do about it. Dean had done so much for him, but as Sam read he realized what was good and helpful for Sam wasn't so for Dean.

_Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you, Sammy…If it's the last thing I'm going to do I'll save you…I've tried so hard to keep you safe…I wanted to be a fireman_…

How many times and how many ways had Dean said the same thing, and most times he'd done it without words? Sam spent his life it seemed sometimes worrying that Dean was throwing himself in front of someone, sometimes a victim, more often Sam. He'd often been angry with his brother for never caring about his own life as much as he did everyone else's. To Sam it often appeared Dean was far too willing to sacrifice himself.

What it really was was Dean seeking out a way to fulfill what he needed.

Sam spent his days being tapped on the chest or shoulder, sometimes Dean would flip a finger through the back of Sam's hair. He got kicked and nudged in the foot or leg while they ate. Dean's elbow spent more time in Sam's side than it did near Dean's. When Sam was small Dean would take his hand when they crossed the street. Now Dean's knuckles would bounce for a second against Sam, making them both unconsciously check their steps and look both ways. Sam couldn't count the number of times when they tracked something that they'd press back to back and he'd feel Dean relax even as some ghouly thing came at them. When Sam wanted Dean's attention he yelled. More often than not Dean came running. When Dean wanted Sam's more times than not he got smacked in the knee or head.

There were the big, obvious things of course. The times Sam remembered Dean literally grabbing him and _throwing_ him out of the way, shoving in front of Sam to guard him from some evil real or perceived. It was the smaller things Sam saw with such sudden clarity in Dean's notes that Sam had overlooked. He'd spent his entire life with Dean's small touches and taps. So much so that probably before Sam could walk and talk he'd come to know this as the norm and never given it a bit of thought.

Sam thought about it now.

Dean cared for people but mostly he cared for Sam. What bothered Sam was how Dean kept everything locked inside and would never talk about his thoughts and feelings. With such startling clarity it hit Sam, Dean didn't _have_ to talk these things out. Sam talked. Dean swore sometimes Sam talked so much he never understood where Sam could find so much to say. Sam _needed_ to talk, to express his feelings. In the months following his kidnap Dean had literally forced Sam to tell him everything, every thought, every fear, every nightmare. The fears and nightmares went away, or at least scaled down to a manageable level.

For Sam to force the same thing of Dean would be useless and frustrating. Dean needed to take care of things, to fix them. Dean needed to be needed. Just as Dean had been forced to go against his basic nature to help Sam, Sam was going to have to go against his to help Dean.

Sam was going to have to shut his mouth.

He'd meant it when he'd told Dean the only person he trusted Dean's life to was himself. What he hadn't realized was how close to the truth his words came. Sam's number one tool he had at his disposal to help his brother beyond the traumas of the past was himself. He had to shut his mouth, stop pushing at Dean to talk, since Dean really didn't have anything to say, and simply let Dean be needed.

Sam talked, connected on a mental level. Dean touched, connected on a physical level. When Dean was satisfied Sam was safe and well then Dean's stress level went down. If Sam wanted to help Dean he was going to have to let Dean be Dean and let him watch out for Sam and the world. Sam was going to have to get over himself and swallow some pride and do for Dean what Dean had always done for him. Trying to force Dean to open up verbally was making the situation worse, not better.

A bag clunked in front of him. He heard how glass clinked against glass in the confines of the plastic. Sam looked up. Bobby stood looking down at him.

"I brought baby food and dog food." Bobby looked…irritated.

Sam managed contrite. "Thanks."

An ammo box thudded next to the bag. "I brought bullets. Anything else you want me to shop for?"

Shaking his head, Sam ducked his gaze, going for meek and submissive. "No. Thank you."

Sam smiled and Bobby huffed.

"Do you think Dean cares about what happens to him?" Sam looked up and away. Even as he sat fingering the edges of his laptop he felt how Bobby studied him.

"Sam," Bobby pulled a chair over and swung onto it. "Your brother has the most amazing sense of self preservation I've ever seen in a person. He also loves you more than he does himself. I don't think either one of those things points to someone who doesn't care about himself. He just doesn't put himself first, not in the same way most folks do." Bobby reached out and tugged on Sam's shirt. "Let me see, kid."

Sam obediently took off his flannel and lifted his tee so Bobby could see the extent of his injury.

Bobby grimaced, but let go of Sam's shirt and it slid back into place. "Dean's like the guy who runs into the burning building instead of out. He can do something about a dangerous situation, so he does."

"It's that simple?"

"Yeah, Sam it's that simple." Bobby took a deep breath and went on. "Sam, your brother was a little boy who had his entire world ripped away except for one thing. You can't blame him for wanting to hang onto and guard that one thing with everything he has."

Shaking his head, Sam had to agree, he'd do the same. He _did_ do the same. The difference was he wasn't up in everyone's face about it. If he was being really honest with himself, Sam knew he was just as willing to sacrifice himself as Dean.

"Hey, Bobby, thanks for bringing this stuff." Dean boomed his way through the room. "Whatcha find, Sammy?"

Sam started when Dean's hands landed on his shoulders, a quick rub and pat before they fell away. Dean gave him a wicked grin and plunked down in the chair in front of the fireplace. Making a mental note that when Sam didn't pull away even the slightest the tension eased away from them both. Dean grinned and Sam had to admit to himself the small gesture felt good.

"Why did I go into a store, one where people know me, and buy baby food?"

"For…um…the baby." Dean offered brightly. When Bobby's eyebrows went up and his jaw down, Sam snickered.

"Belle's cousin dropped out of sight about three days after Belle did." Sam ignored Bobby's irritated look and twisted in his chair to focus Dean.

"Yeah, that was a gimme." Pushing out of the chair, Dean crossed the room, waggling one finger at Bobby on the way by. "You want to see?"

Sam shut his laptop, grabbed up the bags and trailed behind them down the hall and to the clinic.

Valkyrie bounced across the room to greet them and inspect the bags. Sam extracted the dog food and took Carter's offering of bowls for her to eat and drink from.

Forge shoved off the counter he'd been sitting on, puppy in his lap and dug through the bag. "Oh, cool, this'll work. If we mix the baby food in with the dog food—"

"Give me that." Bobby yanked the bag of baby food jars away. Taking the dog food he dumped some of each into another bowl.

"Not so much dog food and more baby food." Forge moved normally—and for that Sam was really thankful since trying to keep up with his movements when he was in vampire mode was grating on Sam's last nerve—across the room and to Bobby who turned a glare on him. Stopping dead in his tracks, Forge put his free hand in the air and backed up a step.

Bobby snapped, "I think I can figure it out."

"It's going to be too hard for him to chew." Forge shrugged. His shoulders sagged when he set the puppy down in front of the bowl Bobby had mixed and the little guy dug right in, tail wagging with every swallow.

Dean caught Sam's eye, grinned and ducked his head when Bobby snorted and Forge muttered "_know it all_."

"So, it appears we've got two werewolves." Sam said quietly.

'Yeah, two possibly sick werewolves." Dean added. He was busy loading Sam's handgun with silver bullet rounds. Setting Sam's gun on the table next to him, he held his hand out for Forge's and repeated the same actions. "Okay, what do we have to do? Trap and take out two werewolves who don't do anything like they're supposed to. We need to know more about the cousin other than he's disappeared and if there is anywhere other than that farm and house they'd go to. Why don't you see what else you can dig up for us to use to get them and Forge and I can go back to the house, see if they've been there and set up things at the farm."

Sam couldn't do it. Inner pep talk on how to help Dean aside, Sam couldn't let his brother go alone. He _couldn't_. "Dean I'm not—" That was as far as Sam got. What happened next sort of struck him speechless.

"You two are a complete piece of work, you know that?" Forge stalked to the middle of the room. When Sam opened his mouth Forge swung in his direction, pointing one finger at him, "Shut up." The growl from Dean got a better response. "What part of shut it don't _you_ get?" Forge was pointing at Dean now. He stood in the middle of the room, eyes on Dean.

Dean straightened and blinked at Forge.

Forge either didn't notice, or didn't care. "You want to kill the werewolves, we _all_ want them gone. But you sure as hell don't have to get yourself hurt or worse in the process. That _thing_, those _things_ have gone after Sam _twice_." Even though he faced Dean, Forge pointed back at Sam. "And you want him to sit here and do what? Wait and see if you come wandering back or just go on after it rips you up too? Exactly how fair is that? Sam deserves a crack at those things. He deserves to be in on everything, not shut out or pushed aside because you're worried about what might happen to him."

When Sam drew in a breath to speak Forge whirled around at him. "And you! You're worse than he is! I get it, I do. You want to get the werewolves, they hurt people. They hurt _you_. And you're scared to death that if you're not around your brother is going to throw himself at one because he's pissed off you got hurt and you're probably right. But, Sam, look at yourself. You can only use one hand and I haven't missed the fact you wince every time you move. One of them comes at you again, exactly what do you plan to do? Swear at it? No, you plan to go out there, beat to shit like you are and now you're brother has to not only take care of himself, but you too? Not exactly smart or fair to Dean, is it?" Raking one hand through his hair, Forge looked from one to the other, settling a hard gaze on Sam again. His voice dropped to something ragged and hurting. "There are far too few people in this world who care enough about someone else to put them first. You, pal, are in one big, fat minority."

Tuning out everyone else in the room, Sam looked over at his brother, met Dean's eyes. Without saying a word Sam knew Dean was thinking the same thing as he. Forge was right. He felt ashamed, and supposed maybe it showed on his face, how he was constantly accusing Dean of doing what Sam himself did.

"Neither one of you is going to beat this thing by yourselves. You shouldn't have to or even try to." Forge finished quietly.

"But you just said—" Sam started.

"I said shush."

"You got a plan?" Dean leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

Forge shrugged, "More like an idea." He crossed the room to Carter's medical supply cabinet. "Obviously you two can't work without each other and obviously neither one of you has any business going after this thing alone. It uses primarily its sense of smell, right?"

Dean nodded. Sam sat watching the show.

"Weeelll, seems pretty simple to me. It's after Sam. It knows Sam's scent—"

"No!" Dean was moving, getting right in Forge's space. "Hell NO!"

Forge put a placating hand on Dean's shoulder that was slapped away. "So…" Forge pulled out a tourniquet, some syringes and tubes from the cabinet. The tourniquet was tossed at Sam, he deftly caught it out of the air and laid it on his lap. The syringes and tubes, Sam saw now they were for blood collection, were pushed into Carter's hand. Smiling at Dean, Forge spread his hands, "So, we make it think I'm Sam. We give it what it wants and we trap the bastards."

"Dean, that could work." Sam said.

Dean was chewing on his lip. He met Sam's eyes and nodded slowly. "It could. You wear his clothes you smell like him. He dabs your blood on, wears some of your clothes…yeah, it could."

"You can't do that. It's suicide." Bobby snapped, Sam jumped he'd forgotten Bobby was in the room.

"I stand a heck of a lot better chance against them than any of you. I've survived an attack and I have a better chance of out running it."

"You're insane." Bobby spat. "That was a fluke. You're plain idiot stupid if you think you'd be that lucky again."

Dean looked at Sam, then at the floor, rubbing at the back of his head. "Uh, no, not a fluke."

Sam slid from his chair and edged toward Bobby. Dean leaned to the side so he was between Bobby and Forge.

"I'm a vampire." Smiling broadly, Forge let his fangs drop long enough that Bobby sucked in a breath and darted forward. "Please don't chop my head off, sir."

Sam got to him in two long steps, grabbing Bobby's arm and pulling him back. "No, it's okay, it is."

"He's a—" Bobby sputtered.

"Yep." Forge stepped clear of Dean, marched over to Bobby and patted his shoulder. "For close to three hundred years. Didn't see that coming, didja?"

Dean got between them again, arms out, muttering, "Smartass cops." Fingertips on Bobby's and Forge's shoulders. He looked at Bobby, "You, _chill_." Then to Forge, "_You_ aren't helping."

"That's why you were so worried I'd touched your blood when we brought you in here. That's why you're alive." Carter said.

"He's not exactly alive." Dean grumbled.

Sam nodded sat back in the chair and let Carter adjust the tourniquet over his bicep, looking over at Dean when the needle poked through and blood, his blood, flowed into the tubes.

Carter pressed cotton to Sam's arm and released the tourniquet. "Okay, now you." He looked over at Forge.

Hedging away from Bobby and to the chair beside Sam, Forge eased into it; bracing one elbow on the table he rested his forehead in one hand. Closing his eyes, he held his other arm at an angle that assured he couldn't see what was going on, if he'd opened his eyes.

Sam reached over and touched Forge's shoulder lightly. "Are you okay? You're looking a little green."

Heaving a sigh, followed by a heavier sigh and an odd burp, Forge nodded. "Don't like needles."

Bobby burst out laughing. Dean turned away hand over mouth, Sam watched his shoulders bounce and tried not to so much as smile as he gave Forge's shoulder a light squeeze. "It's um…it's not so…it won't…oh hell. You're not going to pass out or anything, are you?"

"No." Forge squeaked.

Carter released the tourniquet and glanced at Sam. "You should put some of this on too." He had the jar of snot-glop they'd found in the woods where Forge had been originally attacked.

"Ah, no come on. No, that stuff is _nasty_." Sam looked around at the faces of the other men helplessly. He knew he was done for when Dean's face slowly broadened to a wide smile.

"Only way I'm going along with this half-assed plan." Dean was far too pleased with this turn of events.

"I don't need your damn permission." Sam shot back and hated how his voice picked right then to snap up an octave.

Dean picked up the three handguns. "No, but you do need the silver and lead bullets and I have them all." He waggled the guns in the air and sighed dramatically, trying and failing to look innocent.

"I hate you." Sam grumbled. Opening the jar he dabbed some of the offensive stuff on his shirt. When Dean quirked an eyebrow Sam gave up and smeared the foul stuff across the material covering his chest then streaked some down each arm. "It's bad enough I have to paint his blood on me, now this."

"You can wash it off and stay here."

Sam narrowed his eyes and glared at Dean. Dean stood smiling back impassively. He turned to Bobby and chuckled. "Oh yeah, this is a good day."

* * *

Forge sat quietly in the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean drummed the steering wheel and sang cheerfully. Sam slouched in the back seat muttering obscenities. He'd started off in English and moved on to other languages Forge didn't understand. It sounded like Latin, but he wasn't sure and decided asking might get him punched. The meaning was still loud and clear, however.

He wished there was some other way besides throwing these two into a fray with werewolves when Sam was so badly injured, but Forge had seen for himself time and time again over the last year neither brother was very capable of functioning well without the other. As much as they bucked one another at times, and spent more time trying to protect each other from threats than anything else, it was obvious to Forge, they knew it too. At least this way Sam was free to admit he wasn't in top condition and might not put himself in danger. Forge hoped he'd simply accept his brother's guard. That would keep them both focused on their hunt and alive.

If anyone took a fall, Forge wanted to be sure it was he who fell.

The farm was closer and Dean insisted that would be a more likely choice of places the werewolves would be. Sam didn't seem to want to argue, so Forge followed Dean's instincts. The man knew his prey. Forge decided following his lead was prudent. They left the car pulled off the road a half mile away and hidden by brush and went the final distance on foot.

Fog had settled in giving the place an eerie, out of time sort of look. The set up of the property offered little in the way of cover and far too quickly they were out on in the open, exposed and vulnerable to attack.

The wind shifted and Forge's only warning came as the barest hint of scent. They were closest to the barn when Dean turned at nearly the same instance as Forge, gun up and tracking the blur of movement coming at them faster than even Forge's eye could track.

There were two. One hit Forge broadside, knocking his gun away and pinning him to the ground almost immediately. He kicked it off, hearing the shots from two guns. Pain erupted from his lower legs when he was grabbed in sharp claws and yanked away.

The other one flung Dean away like he was some rag toy. Hitting the ground with a harsh grunt, Forge watched him push up on his elbows and shake his head. Forge saw Dean's eyes widening, color leaching completely from his face when he twisted around and saw the second werewolf and Sam.

Forge scrambled for freedom and reach his own weapon even as Sam lifted his and opened fire on the monster bearing down on him. It moved too fast and even though Forge saw some of its pelt cut through with bullet tracks and smelt rancid blood it wasn't enough to take the creature down.

Hitting Sam full force with one grotesquely long arm and snatching him off his feet the thing never even slowed down until it reached the door at the back of the barn, shoving Sam through before ducking inside itself.

Forge kicked at the werewolf coming at him. It was nothing but irrational teeth and claws and the fact Forge kept rolling away from its attack angered it and drove it into a frenzy. Finally getting his feet under him Forge got one hit in before he was caught, lifted and thrown. The last thing he saw before he hit the ground and darkness crashed down on him was Dean sprinting at the barn.

They'd all been wrong. There was no hiding, no disguising from these things. Even wearing the repellant and Forge's blood Sam hadn't stood a chance.


	12. Chapter 11

The world swam in front of Dean in a twist of oddly swaying trees and a bizarre meeting of grass and sky. He was against a tree which was a good thing since he used it as a brace to creep up until he was standing. Taking a cautious step away from the tree he sucked in and held a breath when the Earth's rotation picked up speed without warning him first. Using one hand to hold onto the tree behind him, Dean leaned over and braced his other hand on his knee, closed his eyes and concentrated on getting air into his lungs.

He wondered where his overgrown little brother had wandered off to and why he'd left Dean here with the Earth changing gears and all. _Sorta rude, Sammy, raised you better than that_.

Images behind his closed eyes of Sam being slammed into and picked up by a werewolf brought everything crashing back to him.

Straightening inch by inch, Dean panted like he was in labor trying to keep his head from spinning and his stomach from flip flopping. A voice inside his head screamed at him to _get your ass moving_! The problem was his legs weren't all onboard with the idea. Dean let go of the tree. When nothing too terrible happened he took a few steps toward the barn.

A few more steps that lengthened until Dean was running.

There was no sound anywhere around him and for a few seconds Dean thought he'd become deaf after hitting the tree. When he grabbed the door and heard it squeak and groan as he shoved it open. His blood ran cold and his stomach felt like a chunk of ice, there was nothing but deathly silence from the barn. The last thing he wanted to see was his kid brother torn and ripped, shredded by some monster who was probably feeding on him right now.

He stopped at the opening, poking gun then head through the opening long enough to let his eyes adjust to the lower lighting. A few oil lamps were lit and hung along various points of the lower level. Natural light from the outside was the only thing illuminating the upper part.

Dean shoved through the small opening in time to see Sam, very much alive, standing on shaking colt legs on the lower level of the building, gun coming up. How the kid was even standing was beyond Dean. Before Sam could fire the werewolf swung at him. The gun was flung out of Sam's hands and into the wall behind him. The blow knocked Sam sideways, his hair flying in odd directions while he crumpled to the ground. As the werewolf advanced Sam didn't have the time to get up, he could only shove himself backwards with his feet, hands fumbling for his knife. They both watched, a little wide-eyed, as the werewolf strode to the gun, picked it up and cracked it into pieces. The strength that took simply amazed Dean and from the expression of awe-horror Sam wore he thought the same.

Apparently the thing liked to play with its food before eating it. It advanced on Sam, towering over him, actually making Dean's little brother look little and…no…not happening.

Shouting, Dean fired at the werewolf, hitting it in the shoulder. It turned, staggering sideways and away from Sam by a few feet. _Sam, get up, get up now, come on, Sammy, get up_. The words tumbled through Dean's head. His silent, desperate plea turned into a harshly barked order, "Sam! Get up!"

Sam's eyes drifted to him, though Sam was already twisting to the side trying to get one arm under him and push off the floor. He climbed to his feet swaying worse than Dean had been a few minutes before after his introduction to the tree outside. Dean hurt and felt sick just watching Sam trying to regain his balance and stand straight. Sam seemed to be trying to focus more on Dean than trying to get himself moving. Then Dean realized Sam was looking past him. His face dropped, eyes widened and Dean saw how his mouth formed a word: _Dean_.

A slight scrape of something hard against the floor was Dean's other warning. He turned far enough to see the second werewolf moving towards him. The thing was wounded and had been in one hell of a fight. That was certain. Long strips of flesh and pelt were torn away from one leg and its side. Dragging the injured leg like it was made of wood the werewolf's gate was an odd hop-skip and lurch forward. It clutched its side with one arm, the other swung to the side in an effort to maintain balance. Maybe the wounds would prove fatal, but Dean didn't want to take that much time.

He'd pick off this one and get back to the matter of Sam trapped below with the other one.

Forced to turn his back on his brother and the first werewolf to get a good shot at the approaching one, Dean widened his stance and took careful aim. He wanted the thing dead with the first shot.

Sam's yelp a split second before Dean squeezed the trigger made him jerk around. The werewolf had Sam by his injured arm, was cranking it behind him in a way that if it continued Sam's arm would be ripped off. Sam's breathing was so erratic he wasn't doing any more than hissing air into and out of his lungs. His eyes went horribly wide then scrunched shut. Tears rolled down his cheeks and as his knees buckled the werewolf viciously pulled up on Sam's arm. Its eyes shifted to Dean as it put one foot against Sam's thigh and leaned its upper body back farther. Sam's mouth opened, but Dean realized he had nothing in him to scream with. Sam's entire body whip-lashed with his efforts to stay upright and no doubt remain conscious.

"No. Alright, alright. Don't hurt him." Dean put both hands in the air and stepped back so he could keep both werewolves in sight.

The werewolf eased up on its grip on Sam. Shaking his head, Sam was mouthing the word _no_. Ignoring his brother's plea, Dean slowly bent down and place the gun at his feet. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy, I promise." He straightened and eyed the creature on the lower level with his brother. It let go of Sam and he dropped to the floor and curled into a shivering ball. Dean's eyes dropped for a split second to the gun at his feet before tugging back to Sam.

He was pretty confident he could take care of the werewolf with him without his gun.

"Sam." Dean kept his voice low and firm and his eyes on the werewolves. "Sam, look at me. Now."

Shifting, Sam's head turned toward Dean. In agonizingly slow increments his eyes opened. Moving his good arm inch by inch he got it under him far enough to push his body off the ground and to his knees. He stayed like that, swaying for a few seconds before getting to his feet again.

"Sam, didn't spend all those hours helping you practice for the soccer team for nothing." Dean dropped his gaze to the gun at his feet for a split second. Sam gave half a headshake _no_ which Dean ignored. The werewolf in front of him lifted its lips in a silent snarl, but didn't take any more steps closer. "Okay, boys, I get it. I leave yours alone, you leave mine alone." He took a step back. "I'm just going to find some rope, collect my little brother there and we'll be off your place and out of your considerable hair in no time." Moving one hand slowly toward the knife strapped to his ankle, Dean's gaze shifted from one werewolf to the other.

While they both paid attention to him, Sam climbed to his feet, wincing and hissing. Again he shook his head and this time blew out a soft, wet, "Dean, no."

Not that Dean cared what his brother's opinion was at the time. Shifting his weight back, picking up one foot, Dean let it scuff over the ground as if he were backing away. Then he brought that foot back, lined it up so the side of his foot would hit the gun and let fly. Sam and the two werewolves watched the gun spin away and sail in a perfect arc at Sam who deftly snatched it out of the air.

Sam immediately turned the gun on the werewolf near him and for a few seconds the two of them froze like that, man and beast staring each other down with a small bit of metal and gunpowder between them. The werewolf near Dean charged, but Dean was already prepared with silver tipped knife out and up. Movement below drew his eyes there. His blood ran cold and his knees went so weak he had to lock them to stay upright.

"Sam! No! Damnit…NO!"

This time Sam ignored Dean's command. He swung his entire body around, hair flying out at odd angles, his arm following and the gun's aim sluiced away from the werewolf in front of him to the one bearing down on Dean.

Sam fired.

Two shots ripped from the handgun and Sam was weakened enough that the recoil made him stumble back a few steps. Sam's first shot hit the werewolf's forehead dead center, the second went straight through the thing's chest. It took a few steps then crashed to the floor, body twitching, jerking and bleeding out dead when it hit the floor.

The second werewolf snarled and Sam immediately turned the weapon back on it, firing. This time however, instead of gunshots cracking the air there was nothing but hollow clicks. Sam's eyes widened and he looked at Dean, pale, shivering and silently not apologizing for what he'd done. The thing bore down on Sam, who could do nothing but scramble backwards which only trapped him in one of the cement stalls.

Dean shouted and the werewolf turned to him. Throwing his knife it hit the werewolf in the chest inches below its collarbone and embedded there, making the creature scream and howl. "Take that." Dean snapped. A fast look around and he found a tire iron and sent that flying too. It hit the werewolf on the head, stunning it and knocking it back and away from his brother.

Sam momentarily forgotten, the werewolf clawed at the knife in its chest, turning in circles trying to pull it away. Arms flailing out the wolf's hand connected with one of the oil lamps. It pulled the lamp from the wall, straightened and roared at Sam before throwing the burning lamp at the pile of debris in the small moat, at once igniting abandoned clothing and partially decomposed bodies. The werewolf slumped to its knees. Dean's knife might not have hit its heart, but the silver was now in the creature's bloodstream doing its job. A slow acting poison. Not what Dean preferred, but he'd take what he could get at this point.

The sound of his gun dropping to the cement made him turn back to Sam. His brother stared, wide-eyed and his face completely devoid of color, at the fire gaining speed, igniting and chewing up everything in its path as it formed a semi-circle around Sam and the dying werewolf separating the two brothers. Had the two parts of the barn been level Sam could have simply stepped over the fire and Dean had no doubts he could have coaxed his brother to do just that. Having the two sections separated by seven or eight feet that required Sam to jump over the fire was the issue.

Dean had a healthy fear of fire. The difference was, unlike Sam who feared all fire, Dean feared specific ones. The fires that stopped Dean's heart and made his blood run cold in his veins were the ones threatening his brother. This was one such fire.

The main part of the building was cement and therefore wouldn't burn. A quick glance up crushed Dean's hopes he could convince Sam to stay to the back of one of the stalls and wait for the fire to burn itself out. The top of the structure was wood, if that caught on fire they'd be cooked, literally. Not a chance Dean was willing to take.

"Sam," he shouted, drawing Sam's eyes immediately to him. "Come on!" Backing up a few steps we waved his hands at himself.

Predictably, Sam shook his head and backed away from the barrier of flame. When something near the edge sparked and cracked, flames shooting up and out Sam threw one hand over his eyes and moved even farther from the edge. "It's too high."

"Jump. C'mon, I'll catch you."

Flames lapped at debris and loose hay scattered to one side whooshing into a full blown blaze making Sam jerk around and stumble away. "I'm not getting out." He waved his good arm at the upper entrance, "Go!"

"Fine." Wrenching his jacket off, Dean tossed it to the side, sat down and scooted to the edge, legs dangling over.

"What are you doing? Dean get outa here!" Sam's voice cracked but his attention was riveted to Dean and not the fire now.

Inching closer to the edge, "If you won't come up here, I'm coming down there."

"No."

"I'm not leaving without you, Sammy."

Sam looked from Dean to the flames swirling over the cement, eating up anything flammable.

"Sam," Dean said in a low voice. He got exactly what he hoped for. Sam's gaze slid to him, their eyes locked. Waving at his chest, "Sam, I'll catch you and pull you up. Run, don't look at the fire, just jump." The werewolf slumped a few feet from Sam twitched. "SAM! NOW!"

Sam lurched into a broken, staggered run. He wasn't going to have the speed or power he'd normally have. There was no way he'd jump high enough to clear the fire and make it over the edge.

Dean twisted around and flung his upper body over the edge and pressed the rest of his body hard against the ground as he reached out both hands to his brother.


	13. Chapter 12

Sucking in a harsh, ragged breath, Dean reached as far as he could. Sam more threw himself at Dean's outstretched hands than jumped at them. The second Dean's fingers brushed Sam's wrist he clamped down. Kicking, trying to find some small purchase on the smooth concrete wall, Sam gripped Dean's arm with his good hand but failed to get any closer. Inching forward as far as he dared, Dean grabbed Sam's elbow with his other hand.

Moving his legs, Dean tried pulling the two of them back, but it was useless. He had nothing to hook his feet around for extra leverage. The fire was lapping Sam's feet and legs, not enough to catch his clothes on fire, but enough for him to feel the heat of it Dean was sure. Panicked, Sam struggled more to get his feet flat enough to push up towards Dean.

Smoke curling upwards made his eyes water and his throat raw.

The angle was wrong and with two-hundred pounds of panicked, flailing Sam dangling from his hands Dean realized they were both stuck. If he let go with one hand to help ease them back from the edge, he'd lose his grasp on his brother. Sam's weight jerked him forward, dropping them down a few inches and leaving Dean balanced very precariously over the edge.

"Dean," Sam rasped out. "Let go. I'm too heavy, going to pull you over too."

Pain screaming along his back and shoulders Dean cranked one arm back, regaining the few inches they'd lost. Another streak of flame shot out and at them making Sam cringe against the wall. "Hang on, Sammy."

"You'll burn, you can't...I can't hold—" Twisting his head around, Sam's eyes widened. He garbled out some odd noise and began kicking furiously.

Dean caught movement below them. The surviving werewolf had crawled to them and was swiping at Sam's feet. Smoke and the rancid odor of burning flesh coiled around them in thickening billows. Heat from the fire slithered up and over them in waves that rippled the air.

Sam may have been saying let go, but he had Dean's wrist in a vice grip.

"Tough shit, do it anyway. I got you. Kick!"

Pulling one knee nearly to his chest, Sam lashed out, slamming his foot into the werewolf's face, gasping and coughing from the effort. Dean sucked in a breath and felt his muscles turn to mush when Sam's fingers went lax in his grip without warning.

Sam's weight against his arms was suddenly eased. At the same time something heavy leaned on him, pinning him to the ground with what felt like a knee to the middle of his back. A hand and arm in a tattered denim jacket—Sam's jacket—appeared beside his on Sam's wrist.

"I got him." Forge's voice was right in his ear. "Cover him."

Dean turned his head far enough to see that Forge was kneeling partially on the floor and partially on Dean's back, preventing him from sliding any more toward the edge. Dean's gaze followed the arm extending beyond his face to the handgun Forge gripped. Letting go of Sam with one hand and pressing his palm against the side of Sam's head he turned Sam so his face was away from the gun and pushed against Dean's arm, his hand shielding Sam.

He barely nodded before feeling Forge tense and brace. "You don't get this kid," he snarled out and fired the gun. Two shots to the werewolf's head, one to its chest, dead center. The silver bullets from Forge's gun ripped into the werewolf. It fell away from Sam, dead.

"C'mon, up you two go." Forge tucked the gun into his shoulder holster then rocked back and away from Dean, grabbing Dean's belt with one hand, still holding Sam's arm with the other.

Able to anchor on Forge's grip, Dean got his knees under him, one arm under Sam's shoulder and across his back gripping his brother with everything in him. He heaved his upper half off the ground, straightening and pulling Sam, barely coherent and conscious, up with him and over the edge. Forge hoisted them farther back. Once he let go, Dean twisted around, landing on his butt hard, pulling Sam across his legs and against his chest, both arms wrapped tightly around Sam's shoulders.

"Sammy?" Dean gripped his chin and turned Sam's face up.

Eyes moving in a slow, lazy path around the area, they finally landed on Dean's face and focused. Sam gave him a small smile, exhaling slowly, "You didn't let me fall."

Cupping the back of Sam's head and holding him to his chest, Dean shook his head, "No way, Sammy. Not ever." Sam took one deep breath before he went still and lax in Dean's arms. As soon as he felt Sam take a breath, then another Dean was left a quaking mess. Hands gripped firmly under his arms and hefted both he and Sam up.

"We really gotta go, guys," Forge ground out, shoving Dean at the barn's entrance.

Dean saw at once, Forge had ripped the door there off its hinges. Now there was nothing but a ragged hole where a neat, square doorway had been. Carrying Sam between them, they made their way to the entrance. Forge shoved against Dean's back, forcing him away from Sam. More out of it than not, Sam's hand fluttered against Dean's shirt more tangling in it than holding on. When Dean turned and tried pulling his brother closer, Forge shook his head, "We're not all going to fit through, get out there and I'll hand him out to you."

Ducking outside, Dean turned at once. True to his word Forge guided Sam out the entrance. Grabbing both of Sam's arms, Dean backed away from the building as flames began eating at the roof. He was about to go back in for Forge, worried the man might decide to end it in the fire when Forge popped outside, grinning. He closed the distance between them and wrapped Dean's jacket around Sam's shoulders. "Somebody's clothes might as well survive." Looking down and turning his arm over a few times Forge frowned at the tatters his clothing had become and shrugged. "Damn bastards sure as heck wanted me to go shirtless. Guess I owe Sam a new jacket."

Barking a laugh, Dean gave in when his legs buckled and dropped to his knees, Sam going with him.

"Give me your car keys." Forge held out one hand.

"What?"

"Dean, you going to carry him the half mile or so to where we parked? That kid brother of yours isn't exactly light. I can get there and get your car back before you can wrestle him to the end of the driveway."

He was right and Dean knew it. Sam was barely awake, not holding up his own weight and only coherent enough to utter a word every few seconds most of which were nonsensical. Digging in his pocket, Dean extracted his keys and handed them over then sank to the ground with Sam. Rubbing one hand up and down Sam's spine a few times Dean bent his head so he was sure Sam would hear him, "Hang in there buddy, just a bit longer."

A minute later the sound of the Impala's engine echoed down the road and rumbled to a stop behind him. Hoisting Sam to his feet, Dean let Forge brace him against the car with one hand while Dean slid into the back seat then held out his hands to guide Sam in after him.

Squirming around, Sam turned his head to look out the window. "It's burning," he observed then went completely limp and passed out on Dean's chest. Forge sprinted around to the driver's side of the car, was inside and speeding to the road in less than a minute. Dean glanced back and watched the barn burn until the road bent and took the farm out of sight.

* * *

The world came crashing back making every one of Sam's muscles jump as if he'd been plugged into a socket. A warm, strong hand pressed firm against his shoulder and a low, gravelly-deep voice washed over him, soothing, steady and instantly calming.

"Hey, easy, kiddo. It's okay, all over now."

Taking Dean's offered hand to pull up against, Sam glanced around the room. "Where are we?"

"Haven." Dean twisted away for a few seconds, grabbed a tall container with a straw and offered it to Sam, holding it for Sam to sip from the straw. "You know the routine."

Sam grinned, "Yeah. Drink, eat or Carter puts a tube down my throat."

"Dude, I think he'd still do it too."

"Where is everyone?" Sam squinted into the darkened room, a very vague memory of them being met by Bobby and Carter poking at his brain then down at his chest. His wounds were neatly bandaged, a sling held his arm tightly to his side.

"Asleep I'd imagine, it's about three A.M.."

"You've been sitting here all this time."

Dean snorted and waved one hand in the air, "Hell no, I just got up to pee and your moaning and groaning was keeping me awake."

Nodding, Sam held out the container, "Can I have more water?" He shifted his legs around, moving Valkyrie off his knees. She raised her head, gave them both a dirty look and resettled in the spot between Sam's feet.

"Man, I think you just got told off."

Sam chuckled softly then winced. He had sutures in his shoulder and side, any quick movement or sharp inhale made them pull and hurt. He let his head drop back onto the pillow. "They dead?"

"Finally. I thought that one was never going to go down. And dude, seriously, why'd you shoot the werewolf in front of me? The damn thing was half dead already, I could have dealt with it just fine."

Shrugging, Sam smiled, "Seemed like a good idea at the time. How else was I going to get out of there? I wonder how many families those two took out."

"I don't think we're ever going to really know." Dean perched on the bed, the container full again. "Gotta pee, kiddo?"

Sam slurped down the water and handed the empty container back to Dean, watching as he stepped away only long enough to set it down. "Yeah." He pushed up, wincing and sucking in a breath from more tugs to his injured side and arm. Smiling weakly Sam pretended not to notice the odd look Dean gave him when there was no protest at Dean's arm around his shoulders helping to heft him up. Dean's arm slid around his middle, steadying him on his trek across the room to the bathroom. He was absolutely not in the least surprised when he found Dean waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall beside the bathroom. A hand gripped his elbow on the return trip to the bed.

"We're out of commission until those stitches come out." Dean plumped one of the pillows then put his arm around Sam's shoulders again, helping to ease him back down.

Sam nodded, "Okay."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You're not going to argue?"

"Are you going to be hanging around keeping me company?"

Cracking a grin, Dean nodded, "You bet I am."

"Well, then I won't argue." He sighed. "I hurt…everywhere."

"Here." Shaking two pills from a bottle, Dean handed them and the container of water over, "Carter said you could have them as long as you were coherent."

"Thanks." Downing the pills, Sam handed the container over again.

Sam reached out and gripped Dean's arm for a minute, he relaxed, his shoulders broadened and his chin raised. Dean was a warrior, but like any warrior he needed a reason to battle. What he fought for, Sam saw now, was Sam. Dean needed Sam to talk because that's what Sam needed. For Dean to talk was what Sam needed. What Dean needed was to know their bond was strong and sure. To know there was safety and security for Sam, to know Sam was there. Dean had his reason to fight, Sam had his way to protect and help Dean. Kinda simple really.

"There's another bed." He pointed to the bed behind Dean. "You don't have to sit in this chair all night."

Dean patted his shoulder, "Wasn't planning on it, Sammy."

When Sam next woke up there was sunlight streaming in. Dean was twisted at an odd angle in the chair, head tipped to one side, drooling. The pain pills had helped him sleep soundly and he felt much better than he had before. Valkyrie and the puppy batted at one another for a few seconds before the pup pounced on her, snatching her tail and yanking on it. When she yelped, Dean stirred and straightened, scratching at his chest with one hand, blurry eyes scanning the room.

"Hey, hey." Forge ducked into the room and grabbed the puppy up. "Sorry. I've been relegated to dog sitting."

"Doing a fine job there." Dean stretched and twisted his back, cracking and popping before rolling his shoulders.

"I was thinking of calling him Moose, he's going to be about as big as one." Forge swiped one hand over the puppy's ears.

"It's a great name." Sam eased around and swung his legs off the bed. "Shower." He waved Dean back into the chair. "I got it covered."

The others were waiting for him in the small kitchen as well as wonderful smells of coffee, eggs and sausage.

"We saved you some." Bobby pushed a plate across the table.

Settling in the chair beside Dean, Sam smiled. "Thanks."

"Don't suppose you guys can drop me at my building?" Forge held bits of sausage out for Valkyrie and the puppy. "I'll have to figure some tale to spin for them at the station. Then I'm going to have to start looking for another place to live. No dogs allowed in my building and this little guy needs a yard."

"Plenty of room here." Carter said between bites. "Besides I'd miss the pup."

Sam froze, eyes shifting from Dean to Carter to Bobby then back to Dean again. Bobby seemed oblivious. Dean pulled a quick face and shrugged. Forge straightened and stared for a minute at Carter. "I…uh…is that…?"

"Settled then, you can just move here. Be sure you don't bring your cop buddies around." Bobby stood up, took his plate to the sink, poured some coffee into a _to go_ mug that he waved at them. "I'm taking off. You boys take care. Leave the stitches in, Sam."

"Yes sir." Sam mumbled and ducked his head.

Bobby nodded, "Call me."

After dropping Forge and Carter at Forge's building later that day, Dean grabbed the GPS and tossed it in Sam's lap. "Where do you want to head to for some R and R?"

Sam sat for a minute studying the device in his lap, but not turning it on. He was the one who needed to take the next steps for them to continue recovering. He remembered how they'd both been so much better after that first trip to the grocery store parking lot after Sam's kidnap. It'd helped Dean just as much as Sam, them going there and him knowing Sam was safe with him when they returned to the store parking lot.

"You okay, Sam?"

Looking up, meeting Dean's worried eyes, Sam nodded, "Can we go to Bobby's for a few days?"

"You sure?"

"No," Sam laughed softly, "But it's a start."

Dean nodded, cranked over the engine and guided the car onto the road.

Cutting through the kitchen to the back steps, Dean did a quick scan of the room. Neither Sam nor Bobby were to be found. Seeing the delighted look on Bobby's face when they drove up, asking if they could spend a few days there so Sam could heal almost made up for the lost, unsure expression Sam wore the first two days. Bobby didn't push the issue, nor did he constantly give Dean his _don't smother_ look whenever Dean sat between Sam and the fireplace. It'd been four days and this was the first time in those days Dean didn't know exactly where Sam was since Dean hadn't tripped over him in a whole hour. Their stay took Dean back a year to the time Sam wouldn't get out of reach, literally. The fact Sam asked to come here was a huge step in the right direction, for them both Dean realized now.

Hearing small noises in the yard behind the house, Dean trucked down the stairs and stopped short.

He was catapulted back half a year…breath catching in his throat, his chest tightened and his eyes immediately watered.

_**Burn him, get you….will he kill himself for you?... torch himself up, nice and bright so you can watch, hear his screams, smell his burning flesh, see the terror in his eyes. And he'll do it all for you, for his big brother…I'll burn him, get you…you'll watch him die…**__memory of the words, the notes, the spirits hammered his skull_.

"Sam." His voice squeezed out of his raw throat.

Sam sat in front of a pile of wood built into a small pyre. His gaze flicked up then away, eyes settling on the pile of wood. One thin branch was twirled between his fingers, a lighter rested on the ground near his knee.

_Sam stepped into the middle of the pyre. Carefully he sat, holding the torch in his hand, keeping it up and away from the wood. Not even trying to stop the choking breath, his shoulders from hitching and jerking, the tears, Sam shut his eyes and let the torch fall to the wood surrounding him_.

"Sammy?"

"I can't…" Sam drew a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut for a few beats then opened them, head tilted to Dean. He held out the branch and lighter. "I can't do this. I thought I could, learn to get over it. But I can't. Not by myself."

Dean took a few of his own deep breaths, continued down the steps to sit on the ground, cross legged, next to Sam, close enough his shoulders pressed against his brother's. Sam leaned against him as he handed over the twig and lighter. "You sure about this?" Valkyrie wiggled between them, resting her chin on Dean's knee and her body against Sam's.

Sam swallowed and nodded.

Lighting the twig and blowing softly on it until a small flame flickered and grew, Dean leaned over far enough to light the paper Sam had neatly placed under the small pyre. Between the paper used and the dryness of the wood, the entire thing whoosed into flames in less than a minute. Flinching, Sam's hands balled into fists but when Dean dropped one hand on his shoulder-blade Sam's breathing evened out and he relaxed, shoulder and arm still pressed firmly against Dean's.

Maybe not today with this fire, and maybe not tomorrow with another, Dean was willing to admit maybe Sam would never be completely over his fear of fire, but together they'd always get each other through whatever fires ignited in their path.

_Two souls bonded through eternity._

_Without one there truly would not be the other._

**END**


End file.
